


Where the Cracks Form

by jupiter_james



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom Dean, Creature Dean, Falling In Love, Familiar Dean, Hand Jobs, Human AU, Human Castiel, M/M, Mental bonds, Relationship Study, Switch Castiel, Switch Dean, Urban Magic, Witch Castiel, lifelong bond, low angst AU, magic use, soul bonds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-21
Updated: 2017-10-04
Packaged: 2018-12-04 21:00:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 42,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11563251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jupiter_james/pseuds/jupiter_james
Summary: Centuries ago, Earth was ruled by magic. Witches and their otherworldly familiars wandered freely, channeling the magic and sending it out, and through, nature. But as everything on Earth, there is an ebb and flow. Over time, magic, and magic users have disappeared to become myths. However, the cycle is returning. Witches are coming back in larger numbers in these modern times to control the energy before it spirals out of control and creates havoc. Castiel Novak, CPA, is a witch. Then again, he doesn't believe in witches, magic, or the supernatural. Enter Dean Winchester, familiar, who is thrown from his plane of existence to Earth, charged with being Castiel's familiar. His job, to establish a bond with his human, to help Castiel channel his magic. But first he must convince the disbelieving human to accept his fate before they both die from its disuse.This fic is my FTH contribution forBamfinacuddlyjumper, who has been so kind and patient while it's taken months for me to put a workable story together.





	1. Chapter 01

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Winter_of_our_Discontent](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winter_of_our_Discontent/gifts).



Sunday's are the Lord's Day. Normally, Castiel Novak appreciates that to no end. It's the only day of the week that he feels truly at peace. Except today. Today, he feels like shit. He wakes up aching all the way down to his bones. He thinks he might have the flu, but when he presses the back of his hand against his forehead lethargically, he doesn't feel a fever. Just some deep weariness like he hasn't slept in a week. Which is also strange because he's been sleeping more than normal. Perhaps oversleeping, even. 

He draws in a huge breath and reaches for the bedside lamp. He pulls the cord and the light bulb flashes and pops, burning out and shocking his fingers.

He yelps and yanks his hand away, massaging his tingling fingers. "Dammit," he mutters. Maybe he should call an electrician soon. This is the sixth bulb that's burned out suddenly in the past three weeks all over the condo, and they should certainly last longer than they have been. Especially the energy efficient ones.

It's going to be one of those days. He can already tell. Staying in bed for the rest of his life sounds super appealing right about now.

He turns his head towards the window, and the blinds are already up to let in the gray dawn. Hadn't he put the blinds down last night? He never forgets to do that. Whatever. It's raining, dreary outside, which is fine. If there's no sun, his headache won't get any worse. There's one pounding at the back door of his skull already; a constant annoyance in recent weeks. Now he keeps a bottle of Advil right next to his bed for a morning dose. He knocks three back with his glass of water that's curiously colder than it should be, left untouched overnight, and sighs back onto the pillow again. 

Contemplating the ceiling fan, he wonders why everything has gotten so hard lately. It's not like anything is _wrong_ per se. He's not unhappy. Perhaps lonely slightly, but nothing serious. Putting stock into relationships isn't necessarily something he's looking for at the moment, anyway. Loneliness isn't _that_ critical yet. At least he has a cat.

Speaking of which, Gabriel shows up a moment later for his daily wake up call. The tawny runt jumps up onto bed, walking immediately over Castiel's chest to start rubbing happily against his stubble. Castiel smiles. It always makes him smile. "I need to brush you," he says warmly, scratching under the cat's chin. "You're shedding all over the place."

Gabriel doesn't care. He rubs away until Castiel has enough stray fur up his nose to sneeze heartily and scare the animal off. "Sorry!" he calls hoarsely down the hallway. 

But he feels better. Truly, he believes that old wive's tale that says cats have healing powers. It makes him laugh a little bit at himself; it's foolish, he knows. He's not superstitious in the slightest, but Gabriel had made the ache go away at least a little bit. Enough that he can leverage himself out of the bed and shuffle downstairs to put the coffee on.

x ~ o ~ O ~ o ~ x

Dean wakes fitfully feeling dampness along his back. Great. He hopes he hasn't ended up in a sewer or something. Those are gross, from what he remembers. He had made the mistake of not being picky where he'd appeared in proximity to his witch before, and had found himself in a dank, filthy underground water reclamation tunnel somewhere in the Southern United States. Lesson learned and never again.

He keeps his eyes firmly shut while he takes his first deep breath of air on the mortal plane, hoping for the best. _Fresh_. It's fresh. He nearly sobs with relief. Not a sewer, then. It smells mossy and rain-damp. He cracks his eyes open and sees the sky above him through green leaves, clouds waning after an early rain. It doesn't smell exactly like a forest, though. Certainly not like the ones from his home, but that's to be expected. Still. There's something... off about this one.

He draws in another, fuller breath; holds it. Ah. He can smell machinery. Oily exhaust, muted. He surmises that he must be near a city, which is fine. He could go for some Dunkin' Donuts coffee.

Slowly, he raises up onto his elbows to peer around the well-maintained alcove he's tucked away into. It's barely dawn, a heavy gray light, misty at the corners. Good. No one will find him and think he's homeless or mad since his clothing is decidedly alien to the human world. He's practiced enough now in human ways that he doesn't make quite so many gaffes. The only problem is that he has no idea what year it is here on Earth. What should he wear? His brother had advised always starting with something simple and "working class" until he can get a feel for the era. Humans change their clothing styles too much. 

Dean closes his eyes and focuses on his appearance, gathering it in his mind's eye. The last time he'd been in the human realm, everyone had worn these huge corduroy pants or jeans that looked like tents at the ankles. He hopes it's not like that anymore. Even so, he won't wear that shit. He focuses on denim. Jeans are comfortable, inoffensive. He pictures them relatively loose down his legs to a pair of... hmm... heavy tan boots? No one notices men's shoes, in any realm, anyway. For his torso, he envisions a simple black t-shirt. Those will never go out of style, he's sure. The morning is slightly chilly, though it's edging towards late spring, so he also conjures up his favorite clothing item from the last time he'd been here - a worn, dark leather jacket. He doesn't care if those stop being fashionable. He loves it.

The clothes begin to materialize, drawn by the energy around him, and he can feel them start to add weight to his body. It's a much slower process here. Earth's magic is still lethargic - sticky. But it'll come. It's easier already than he remembered it before. And with greater numbers of humans beginning to channel it... well, it won't be long before it's the easiest thing in the world to call on.

Satisfied that he's appropriately dressed, he stands, stretching his arms over his head. Everything pops and groans. Wow, it never gets easier to transport to this plane. 

He steps into the hazy light, sure enough in the middle of some medium sized city in a huge park. There are a few people jogging around the trails and walking their dogs, but for the most part, he's alone. Which suits him. He hates cities. Hopes his charge won't live in the thick of it. Dean prides himself on being able to adjust to almost any setting, but cities are an affront. He was born for and of nature. With no trees, grass, natural fixtures to help him, he'll tire easily. Weaken. Magic or not, cities aren't meant for real, growing things. And definitely not for earth magic.

He can already feel it draining slightly with every step he takes. Or thinks he does, anyway. The longer that he stays on this plane, the weaker he'll become, regardless. Unless he finds his witch.

Exiting the park by the main gate makes him groan with frustration. The city is much larger than he can deal with. Thousands of people packed into skyscrapers and elbowing each other out of the way on the streets as they go through life. Why couldn't his witch have been an old forest hermit? He misses them. They were more demanding with magic, but always understanding of a familiar's needs. Once magic had started to fade, so had the ease of familiars. The last couple that Dean had been called to had all been nearly intolerable. Dean's not sure he _wants_ to be here in the modern world with nobody even knowing who familiars were, much less what to do with them.

He prays it's a child. Children are so much more pliable. They'll believe in anything that takes their fancy, and that helps immensely with magical arts. 

Dean's contemplating his hopeless situation when he feels it. A tug in his sternum deep down like a hook in his muscles. _Oh, no_. It means something's wrong with his witch. Something bad. Worse than bad. Something Dean's needed for. He picks up his pace against the dull throb, now yanking him in the right direction, rubbing his chest. It's not too bad yet. If he can just find the light he's looking for and get to it, it'll be better. But he can't be too long. It'll get dangerous quickly.

More quickly than anticipated, as it turns out. He's not made it a few yards before another pulse hits him that nearly brings him to his knees with a gasp of startled agony. He staggers, keeping his balance, though the pull is so incessant that it actually has the strength to drag his feet along. _Bad. Very bad. Where are you_?! He's never lost a witch before. Certainly not before he's even laid eyes on them. And the weaker his witch becomes, the weaker Dean becomes. It's a two-way street from the second he'd appeared in this realm. Frankly, he doesn't want to know what will happen to him if he dies on Earth and isn't able to get back home first.

Dean runs.

His lungs feel about to burst, but he keeps going. Going, going, _going_ , until the second he's zapped out of reality and violently heaved into another setting.

"Shit!" he yells. "Shit, _shit_ , I fucking _hate_ that! Now I'm not gonna be able to poop for a week!"

"Sir," a firm voice admonishes, "please don't yell in the hospital."

Dean swings around. A nurse is standing in front of him, frowning like she caught him with his hand down his pants. "Sorry," he mutters, dutifully chagrined.

Satisfied with his compliance, she says, "only family is allowed in here. How do you know Mr. Novak?"

Novak. Good. That's good. A name is good. He rubs his hands together. Time for some good old fashioned glamour. He hopes he has enough magic stocked up to do it. His green eyes flash unearthly bright for a split second as he captures the nurse's conscience. Her eyes widen just in time for him to say, "I'm Mr. Novak's husband. I'm Dean Winchester. I'm staying here." He hopes Sam was correct about same-sex marriages being legal now, otherwise he's up shit creek before he's even got a paddle. And it's a lot easier to claim being a spouse. It's an all access pass to the witch he won't ever have to fight for.

She nods numbly for a moment before her eyes clear. "Yes, of course. I'm so sorry, Mr. Winchester. The doctor will be in to check on Mr. Novak shortly. He'll want to speak with you about treatment options."

She leaves, closing the door behind her.

Dean sighs. Well. Time to get down to business. See what his luck has left him with. He turns on his heel and looks on his witch for the first time. His breath whooshes out of his lungs. "Hey, you're hot," he says appreciatively. Novak is down for the count and obviously can't hear a word being said, though Dean's okay with that. It'll give him some introduction practice before the real thing. "Not that I'm picky," he continues matter-of-factly, "but something I've noticed about you human types is that you get awfully judgmental when attractiveness levels aren't equal." He sits heavily in the chair next to the bed. "I can't really figure that out, either, but I got hit on a lot the last time I was here. Kinda fun. Anyway, I hope you either wake up soon or don't have a ton of family members I'll have to glamour. I'm low on juice right now. Guess you are, too. I can take a little if I need to, but I won't be able to siphon much without your help. Looks like you've got a real backlog, too. Your aura's gross."

It's strange that he's been called here at the last minute. Why would he have been sent so late? Unless... hmm. Mr. Novak must be pretty freaking powerful if magic's bringing him down this quickly. Interesting. He's probably been ignoring i. He looks too old to believe in things that are _actually_ real. Which will be a huge challenge for the both of them, but life and death has a way of making people reevaluate their stubbornness. Dean's never lost a witch on his watch, and he ain't gonna start now.

Of course, he also recognizes that he might just be getting way ahead of himself. Plan for the worst, yes, but it's not so difficult to expect the best. Warily.

Until he knows what he's up against, though, best to hang back and watch some TV. He's missed decades of it.

Three episodes into a Judge Judy marathon that has him fully enthralled, the door opens and Dean's head snaps up. White coat. The promised doctor. Dean turns the TV off and gets to his feet.

The man holds out his hand and Dean shakes it firmly, trying his best to look like a properly concerned human husband. "Sorry to keep you waiting, Mr. Winchester. I'm Dr. Cain. I've been going over Castiel's test results, and I won't sugar coat this; it's a real head scratcher."

"What do you mean?" Dean asks politely. He knows what's _wrong_ , of course, but he's never seen what it looked like medically.

"Well, frankly, it's like everything is elevated," the doctor says. "Heart rate, respiration, blood pressure, temperature, blood counts. I'm not exaggerating when I say 'everything' here. There's no indication of trauma, and I've ordered a standard round of blood tests. If those come up clean, we'll do some scans, but." He shrugs. "I've been practicing medicine for more than twenty years and never seen anything quite like this."

In a city like this, Dean thinks the doc probably _has_ actually seen stuff like this before, he just didn't know the cases were related. "Oh," he says, trying to appear shocked with a dash of sad.

He must have pulled it off, because Dr. Cain's eyes leave the chart and soften on him. "Is there any information that you can give us that might be helpful? Has he been exposed to anything that you know of?"

"No," Dean answers.

Carefully, he asks, "drugs? Alcohol?"

"No," Dean says. It's doubtful any witch would be a drug user or excessive drinker. And if they were, they wouldn't get so pent up with energy. It would manifest accidentally much more often with a mind not trying to suppress it.

Dr. Cain nods, believing him. "Has he traveled outside of the country in the last twenty-one days?"

Confused by the question, Dean still answers, "no, he hasn't," even though he might have been. Whatever the reason for that particular question, it's irrelevant here.

The doctor marks everything down on the chart. "Well, I'm not out of ideas yet, so let's stay positive, okay?" He's got a wonderful supportive doctor smile.

"Yeah," Dean says. "Thanks, Doc."

Dr. Cain pats him comfortingly on the shoulder and promises to be back in a few hours to check on him. When he's gone, Dean sits down again and takes Mr. Novak's hand. It's cold. Dry. But it's comfortable and Dean sighs heavily when he feels the spark between them. Unconscious or not, they'd still make their bond. 

Briefly, an intense wave of vertigo washes over Dean at the contact. He doubles over, forehead coming down on the mattress and he clenches Novak's arm tightly. It clears, and then Dean's feeling what his witch feels. Hot, dizzy, exhausted, overwhelmed like his synapses are firing too quickly. Too much. It's a jittery, over-caffeinated feeling. He squeezes his eyes shut, panting against the unpleasant rush. "Fuck," he mutters harshly. "This whole time, you've been...?" This man is _strong_. Strong enough that Dean can't find him right away. It takes several minutes of searching until he's in. Within.

The witch's head is a mess. Partially swimming in whatever drugs the doctor gave him, but also drowning in himself. The most prominent emotions Dean feels are fear, doubt, denial. It's much easier and safer to do this when the witch is awake, but beggars can't be choosers now. Novak is dying and Dean's the only one who can stop it.

He concentrates on where he _isn't_ , removing from his mind the sensations keeping him grounded in the waking world. He can't feel the cold room anymore. Can't smell the antiseptic cleaners. Can't hear the beeps of the monitors. Can't see the spots flickering behind his tightly closed eyelids. Can't taste his own saliva filling his mouth as his heart rate skyrockets.

He focuses on his own, summer grass green pinprick of light in the roiling technicolor panic in Novak's head. Forces it to pulse and glow brighter. Brighter and brighter to dim the rest around him. Calm. Make it calm. It comes slowly, but Novak is starting to sense him. His consciousness is starting to bleed into the colors, soothing and blue. Crystal clear like sea ice. It's the most lovely color Dean has seen in a human in a very long time. Maybe ever.

"Castiel?" he queries carefully. The light pulses in understanding. Dean eases. "Nice name. Can you see me?" The light shies away. "It's okay, Cas. Just focus on me. It'll come. Look at me. Just... look."

Gradually, the blue light begins to bubble and take the form of a man. It solidifies slowly, but more quickly than most would be able to. And much faster than even a talented witch could accomplish bringing them _both_ into being at the same time. "You got it, man," Dean says encouragingly as he watches his hands and legs start to shimmer into form, extremities first and then the more substantial parts.

He keeps his eyes, now able to actually blink, trained fully on Castiel's face as it wobbles and wavers in the ether. But it gets there finally; a man of average height, strong build, dark hair, and glowing blue eyes that won't change so long as their souls are the ones meeting face to face, as it were. "You're naked," Castiel says in a rough, melodious voice that Dean already can't wait to hear casting spells in his arcane native tongue.

"So are you," Dean grins. "Don't worry about it. Once you get better this, you'll be able to conjure us up some clothes. But this'll do for now."

Castiel doesn't appear to be particularly bothered by either of their nakedness; in fact, his piercing gaze doesn't wander a centimeter from Dean's. "Your eyes are glowing."

"So are yours. That'll always happen when we talk this way."

"Dean Winchester," Castiel says with a frown, the name coming like it struggles to be remembered on the tip of his tongue. "But that's not your real name. You won't let me hear it."

Dean shrugs a single shoulder. He can feel Castiel reaching out to his mental walls. Poking at them. It isn't forceful, so Dean doesn't shove back. Mere curiosity. He attempts to keep his emotions as guileless as possible because Castiel will always be able to feel those whenever he chooses, but it's a little hard to tamp down his physical and mental interest in the man. He's incredibly aesthetically pleasing - the kind of looks that one of Dean's kind might pick for their Earth forms. And Castiel's soul is so... _clean_. Humans are usually complicated creatures. They carry darkness as heavily as they carry light, and only the youngest of children are unburdened. Castiel _is_ burdened, though it doesn't carry the extra sour tang of doubt. Castiel Novak lives without regret. Remorse. Loneliness, but not sadness. He feels like someone who... _don't even try._ "Safer for both of us if you don't know it," he says flippantly without further explanation. Castiel can tell how serious he is.

"What's happened to me?" Castiel asks, going straight to the point, flying past the less important, though probably more interesting, questions. Dean can respect that. "I'm... hurting."

"You're in the hospital," Dean answers.

His brow furrows. "I must have been able to drive myself here before I... hmm. Well. Do you think I'll get better soon?"

"Yeah," Dean answers. Then amends, "if you let me help you."

"How can you possibly do that?" Castiel asks, sounding confused. "Is this a mind over matter situation where my brain is conjuring up an attractive fantasy to motivate me to fight? Or perhaps I've already got a foot in Heaven?"

Dean snorts. "None of the above. I'm your familiar. I can explain all his shit better when you're awake and I can show you more, but short story: you've got magic, it's killing you, and I've been called to you to make sure that doesn't happen." He beams. Castiel takes a step back.

"I'm going to die?"

"Not if I can help it."

"Well, that's something."

Dean's eyebrow tips up. "You're pretty cool about all of this. Most humans kinda... freak."

Castiel smiles serenely. "I'm sure that won't help my condition, and I'd like to wake up soon. I've had fever dreams before. They're harmless."

"That ain't what this is," Dean says dryly.

"Yes, it is," Castiel answers confidently.

"No, it's not."

"Yes, it is."

"No, it's-" Dean breaks off with a sigh. "Fine. I can prove it's not."

"Oh?" His curiosity - and skepticism - pique.

With a slow, lazy smile, Dean takes five steps forward until he's close enough to touch. Castiel's eyes widen, and for the first time, his gaze flicks down and up in a split second once-over. "Wakey, wakey," he murmurs and kisses Castiel on the lips.

x ~ o ~ O ~ o ~ x

Castiel's eyes snap open. He's staring at a nondescript white tiled ceiling.

"'Morning, sunshine," an extremely familiar voice says.

Dizzily, Castiel dares to turn his head slightly to the side. A pair of moss and gold eyes is watching him. "Dean Winchester," he rasps, throat dry from disuse. "You aren't an hallucination."

Dean props his chin on his arms where they're resting on the mattress. "Nope. Told ya."

Castiel groans and casts his gaze back up to the ceiling. "My head hurts. My _everything_ hurts."

"You've been in the hospital for a couple days now."

"The tube in my dick seems to suggest that, yes," he grimaces.

Cute _and_ funny. Dean's starting to like this situation a lot. He sits up. "You'll feel better if you get rid of some of the magic you've been backlogging. It's gumming up the works in your body. Like I told you before."

"In my dream," Castiel says flatly. 

"You remember. That's a start."

He snorts. "Maybe this is one of those things where I think I'm awake, but I'm not?"

Dean rolls his eyes. "You're awake."

"I'm losing my mind, then."

Dean reaches forward and pinches Castiel's arm. He yelps and Dean smirks. "You shouldn't pinch sick people!" he grumps.

"You're not asleep and you're not losing your mind. Look, you gotta trust me here. I really can help you."

With a sudden burst of energy that looks like it's the last he's got, Castiel heaves himself up onto his elbows with a stormy expression that makes Dean lurch back. Lightning splits the night sky outside. "I don't know you!" he growls. "I don't trust you. You're a stranger to me, coming into my room and filling my head with utter nonsense. For all I know, you're an escapee from the psych ward and I should really be calling the nurses to have you removed! In fact..." He grabs the call button hanging on the back of the bed, but doesn't depress the button yet. "I want you to leave."

Dean stands. Shoves his hands in his pockets. "Cas, please..."

" _No_!" he shouts. Thunder rumbles so loudly the windows tremble. "Get out!"

Dean holds both hands up, palms out. The last thing they need is Castiel discharging a biblical lightning storm on the city. "Okay, Cas. You win. I'll go. But... just listen to me, okay? Think about all of those weird things that have been going on around you; happening to you. Don't just brush all that shit off as coincidence or chance, because it's not. And give me a call before it gets to life and death again. There's only so much I can do for you when you're in denial. I can't save your life if you can't help me out."

He turns and is all the way to the door when Castiel says, against his better judgement, "how? How do I call you?"

Dean glances over his shoulder and shrugs. "Pray." And then with a small, two-fingered salute, leaves.

x ~ o ~ O ~ o ~ x

Castiel watches Dean leave, rubbing at his chest absently. It seems like every step the man makes further from him, tugs at his heart. Another crack of lightning outside and Castiel swears he can feel it sparking through his veins. It feels like fear. Why the hell is he suddenly afraid of thunderstorms? They've never bothered him before. Not even when he was a child. It's got to be the fever. He feels like death warmed over. He presses the button to incline the bed slightly, hoping it will clear the stuffed cotton feeling in his head. Sleep. He needs sleep. But the fever dreams are even more unnerving than the attractive psychotic man who had spoken to him about magic and familiars. Castiel clenches his jaw. Sleep. It will pass. It _will_ pass. It always passes.

Until it doesn't. Eventually, he's able to drift off into restless sleep, but his dreams are frightening. Colors and noises and voices clawing at all his senses until he's crying out for some sort of deliverance. _Help me_! He screams soundlessly to the raging ocean. _God, help me_!

 _Your God has bigger fish to fry,_ the soothing, handsome voice he says. _He won't help you. He wants_ you _to help_ him.

_I can't. There's nothing I can do. I've been good. I've been faithful. I've lived well. Don't make me do this._

The voice is as soothing as laying down in the cool summer grass. _Don't be scared. Not of me. Not of anything. You're a miracle._


	2. Chapter 02

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean explains their predicament. Castiel doesn't believe him. Things get worse, and then they get better.

The bond hadn't allowed Dean to get very far from Castiel's room. He physically can't walk another step further without feeling like he's having a stroke. But at least he'd been able to find a comfortable place to sit and wait. He's tucked into a chair in the hospital cafeteria next to the huge windows, watching the storm that Castiel has brought. It's immense, powerful. The wind whips the trees back and forth, the rain nearly blinding. The thunder rumbles in his core, and Dean knows that the human's nightmares have brought this on. Dean can't help stop it. Not until Castiel accepts what he is and allows it.

At the very least, Dean is pleased to see that some of the energy is being released, as angry as it is to be forced from an unwilling channel back out into the world. Dean lowers his gaze to the table, eyes unfocused, listening.

He hears Castiel's scream.

He folds his hands together in supplication, elbows on the table, forehead pressed to the fists he's made. He tries again to speak to Castiel. But the man's terror makes it impossible to get through completely. The human wants this to end. Dean can feel it as deeply as Castiel can. The desperation to go back and be how he was for so much of his life. None of Dean's kind have ever understood the human capacity for denial of change. Railing against it until they're broken. Humans fight the inevitable until their last. It would be impressive if it weren't so pointlessly exhausting.

Knowing that he can do no more from where he is, Dean stands from the table and makes his way back to Castiel's room, damn the consequences. Castiel can be as stubborn as he wants. That won't change his fate. Dean's either. And if nothing else is possible, Dean wants them both to survive this. Any way that they can. So he walks across the dark, quiet ward. Slips into Castiel's room and approaches the bed. Sits down in the same chair that he'd occupied before. Draws Castiel's cold hand into his own. The contact makes Castiel startle in his sleep. Lightning splits the sky like daylight, and the hospital's power goes out, flipping to generators in seconds.

Dean sighs. "Sorry, Cas," he mumbles, "but if we don't fix you, you could kill us all."

x ~ o ~ O ~ o ~ x

The first thing that Castiel notices when he wakes up again is the feeling of an overly warm hand in his. Rolling his head to the side, he sees Dean. Again. The man simply won't quit, will he? He tries to move his hand, but as their palms slide together, a huge static shock snaps their hands and Castiel hisses in pain. The aftereffects tingle the tips of his fingers, all the way up his forearms. "Wake up, Dean," he rasps, voice powdery dry from the cannula under his nose puffing in oxygen.

Green eyes crack open, and Dean squints at him blearily. He looks... tired. Drawn. His face is paler than Castiel remembers, dark circles painted under his eyes. "G'morning, Cas," he says, voice paper dry, too. "How you feeling?"

"What did you do?" he demands, though it sounds weak. 

"Helped you," Dean answers, pushing himself up. It takes a worrying minute. He hangs his head as if the effort is a bit too much. "Healed you a little bit a few hours ago. Sorry, but you need it. I ain't gonna watch you die on me."

Castiel stares at him incredulously. "Why the hell do you care?"

He sighs. "Guess you'd appreciate the truth, huh? All of it, straight up, no chaser?"

"Yes," Castiel breathes. Finally. Though, he's pretty sure it's going to be the same nonsense he's been hearing since the beginning. However, he can't deny the sincerity. He's not so bad at reading people that he can't tell that Dean at least _means_ what he says. "Please."

Dean finally manages to lift his head. For as tired as he appears, his gaze is clear and unwavering. "I'll die if you do," he says simply.

Castiel arches an eyebrow. So, the crazy man is getting more desperate with the lies. He should have expected as much. "Why's that?" He questions why he's humoring him, but he's sort of a captive audience.

Dean's lips tip up. "Because we're bonded." He taps his chest. "You're a witch and I'm your familiar. That bond is strong. It develops the second that the witch starts to show their abilities. For every one of you, one of me is selected to guide you. Teach you. Help you channel the magic back out into the world so that it doesn't kill you. In return, I get some of that magic and the energy from you that you put out into the world. It's kinda like my food. Or, I guess my nutrition since I can eat food. It won't sustain me, though. I gotta have that pure channeled magic to survive. It's a tried and true symbiosis. The stuff that might kill you is the stuff that sustains me. In return, I help you help yourself."

Despite himself, Castiel listens to Dean's explanation, drinking in every word. He can't believe any of it, but he can certainly believe that Dean believes it. And the fact that he believes it so thoroughly, makes Castiel start to doubt that he shouldn't. Great. His body's in such a precarious state that his mind is slipping, too. Changing tactics for his own sanity, he asks, "where are you from, then?"

Dean's smile grows wider, clearly starting to think that Castiel's caving. He might be. He could be anything right now. "The other world."

"Not very descriptive," Castiel says dryly. "Does it have a name?"

He shrugs. "Narnia, Middle Earth, Wonderland, the Enchanted Forest. Wherever."

Castiel rolls his eyes and gets another wash of vertigo. "Okay, then, what do _your_ people call it?"

"Home."

"Very funny. Fine, don't tell me."

"I've said before: names have power," Dean says. "Lots of it. You're not allowed to know some of them."

Castiel considers that. In the litany of crazy, that's much less so. "Fair enough. Do you have a family?"

"Yeah. Mom, Dad, little brother. You don't, do you? Not to be rude, but no one's showed up to see how you've been, so I assumed..."

"You're correct," Castiel says. "My parents passed away and I have no siblings. I'm on my own."

"Humans handle that pretty well," Dean says lightly. "Better than my kind."

"Do you get to see them while you're here?"

He shrugs. "I might. I might not. The last time I was here my witch lived pretty close to my brother's, so we got together and helped each other out. That's pretty rare, though. In modern days since travel is easier, I get to see them a few times a year if they live far away."

He makes a thoughtful hum. "If you're so close to your family, isn't that difficult? You said before that you're with a witch until the die. That could be a very long time."

"It is," Dean agrees. "Witches who use their powers responsibly often live longer than normal humans. Not like, freaky longer, but a couple decades, usually."

A thought occurs to him, and he decides to roll with it, because why not? In for a penny, in for a pound, and this is far more interesting than daytime television since _Cops_ was cancelled. "How long lived is your species? And you said that if I die, you die. But you've had witches before who've died, so how come you didn't?"

Dean chuckles. "Looks like your listening ears and brain are working just fine, huh? I can survive the natural death of a witch. Over time, as they age, their ability to use and channel magic wanes. The bond weakens until one day, it's gone. Then I go home and wait for my next witch."

It's an extremely well thought-out delusion. "How long?"

"Dunno, exactly. Years, decades, centuries. I think only decades this time. What year is it?"

Castiel smiles helplessly. "2017."

"Awesome," Dean grins. "Not too long. I won't embarrass you much by not fitting in so easily."

The laugh bubbles up without his permission. Dean might be insane, and Castiel might just be feeding into it, but the man is naturally charming. And also alarmingly easy on the eyes. He's seriously starting to second guess his dry spell if it's causing him attraction to a psych patient. 

Dean gives him an assessing look. With humor he observes, "you don't believe any of this."

"No," Castiel answers truthfully. Then, not completely understanding why, adds, "I'm sorry."

"You're not the first who hasn't." 

"I'm not going to kick you out right now," Castiel says. "I can't say that I hate the company."

Dean positively beams at him. "Hey, man, I can work with that. It's better than nothing. Can I turn on the news? I'd like to catch up on what I've been missing lately."

Lethargically, Castiel grabs the remote from the end table and offers it out. "be my guest."

Dean flips through infomercials and mid-morning talk shows and TV court shows until he finds one of the cable news networks, fully invested in the stories from national to local news. Castiel watches Dean watching and smiles more. He shouldn't find delusions cute, but Lord help him, he does. Dean truly is watching the television like he hasn't heard about the state of affairs ever.

After several minutes, Dean glances at Castiel and says cheerfully, "things are really fucked up here!"

Castiel snorts. "That's one popular opinion, yes. Is it so perfect where you come from?" He says it lightly, but doesn't miss the way that Dean's eyes dim slightly.

"There's nowhere perfect in any plane of existence," he answers.

Well, at least the man has _some_ sense of reality. "You won't try and convince me that I'm missing out on a utopia somewhere?"

"Not that I know of." Dean kicks his feet up onto the bottom of the bed and starts flipping channels again. "Where's the fun in that, anyway?"

Castiel scoffs. "I don't think there's a lot of fun in starvation, wars, and discrimination."

"Maybe," Dean says thoughtfully, "but you humans sure do keep trying. Surviving. Your nature makes you beautiful." His eyes narrow. "And terrifying."

Castiel coughs a laugh. "Maybe you're an alien? From some other galaxy?"

"Wouldn't that be nice!" Dean brightens again. "I sure do love sci-fi stories. Maybe one day when humans have settled in outer space, I'll be able to be a familiar on some distant planet. That'd be something."

"That's very optimistic."

Dean grins. "I get the feeling you're not, so one of us has to be."

"Of course." Castiel sighs and leans back into the pillows, closing his eyes. For some reason that he can't identify, he's calmed by Dean sitting beside him and tutting at the news reports. The low drone of the reporter and the beep of the machines lulls him into a doze. He thinks he feels a hand in his, and then he dreams about green fields and trees he's never seen before glittering in the wet sunlight.

x ~ o ~ O ~ o ~ x

The doctor declares him fit for duty after lunch, mystified, but with no further reason to keep him. Dean takes the care notes and prescriptions with the utmost seriousness, hanging on every word the doctor says. "Bring him back if anything else happens," he advises.

"I will," Dean promises. Then he helps Castiel into his clothes and takes hold of the wheelchair to steer to the exit. 

Castiel allows it, unsure of what he's supposed to do here; so caught up in thinking about how to untangle Dean from him that he misses his chance, and they're both at his car in the parking deck. 

"This is the worst car ever," Dean observes, patting the hood of the Prius. 

"Why are you still here?" Castiel demands finally. 

Dean rolls his eyes. "I told you I need to stay with you."

"Dean," Castiel groans. "I appreciate that you kept me company and entertained, but this is a bit much. You can't come home with me. I don't even know who you are. For all I know, you belong here in the psych ward." There. He's finally said it. 

"Cute," Dean mutters. "You're more stubborn than a dwarf. Look. Fine. Let's try an experiment, shall we? You stand there and I'm going to walk away from you. Let me know when you feel something shitty."

If it'll get Dean out of his hair faster, he'll play along one more time. He gestures for Dean to get on with it.

Dean starts walking backwards one step at a time. Castiel watches him. Sighs. _Keep going, you weirdo,_ he thinks. 

"Give it a minute and you won't have such uncharitable thoughts," Dean snipes from about twenty feet away. 

Castiel startles. How the hell? He shakes his head. Whatever. Dean's intuitive and Castiel isn't exactly trying to hide his obvious impatience. About 30 feet away, he starts to feel it. Like someone's tied a rope around his chest and tugging on it lightly. He stares harder at Dean, who keeps moving, though he knuckles at his sternum with a grimace like he has heartburn. A handful of steps later and the tug becomes a persistent ache. A handful more, it morphs to a burn. "Dean," he calls warningly.

Dean stares back at him, the challenge clear in his eyes. Several more and he actually stumbles a little with a moan that Castiel can't hear, but for some reason he can sense it. More, and the most intense, searing agony pierces through Castiel. He grabs at the hood of the car as his knees give out. "Dean!" He calls, gasping for breath. "Dean, _stop_!"

Dean obeys, but doesn't move closer yet, even though the pain is making him pale and shaky. "You need me!" He yells back, voice rough with discomfort. 

" _Yes_!" Castiel nearly screams. "Please stop doing this!" His eyes blur with tears and he loses his grip on the car, collapsing to the concrete. The only way that he knows Dean is coming back is by the dulling of the pain. Strong hands help him to his feet. Castiel stands, trying not to be sick, feeling himself being wrapped up in Dean's arms. The contact is a flood of cool menthol on his throbbing body.

"You're only fighting yourself now," Dean says softly into his dark hair. "Don't."

Castiel sags against him. Dean smells nice. Like sage and cinnamon. "This is impossible," he slurs.

"I'll show you," Dean promises. "I won't hurt you anymore."

After a long pause Castiel says, "please take me home, Dean."

"As you wish," Dean smiles. He palms the keys, and Castiel tries not to think too hard about how Dean doesn't need to ask him for directions. For the moment he's grateful that he doesn't have to pay attention to anything. 

Of course, as soon as they're home he's immediately irritated again at Dean's constant litany of everything lacking in his life. 

"Dude, where are all the snacks? Seriously? Nothing? Do you _only_ eat peanut butter and jelly? This place is _tiny_ and way up in the air! No wonder you can't channel any magic. You'd only be _more_ out of contact with the Earth if you were in a plane! No TV? Really? What do you do when you're home, stare at the wall and wish you had a TV? Wow, you have like, a million of the same suit. Guess you don't need to think about how to dress in the morning, do ya? It's so quiet in here? Don't you get bored?"

"Dean!" Castiel barks. Then he takes a deep breath. Modulates his voice to a more normal level. "Please. I need to recover. Get my head in order. Have some coffee or something. Would you stop criticizing my perfectly comfortable lifestyle for a moment and allow me to settle in?" And then moodily tacking on, "the TV is inside the entertainment cabinet."

He instantly feels bad for being sharp when Dean immediately changes focus, helping him to the couch, putting a blanket over his knees, which is excessive, but nice, carefully removes his shoes, and then goes to the kitchen, presumably to make coffee. "All you gotta do is ask," he calls over the banging of the cabinets.

Castiel massages his temples. He's stuck between belligerence and gratitude. So far he's been nothing besides off kilter with Dean Winchester. He can't parse it all out. And he certainly is starting to doubt what's true and what's not. That can't be a good thing. Can it?

He's so lost in thought that he doesn't notice Dean until the man pokes him on the forehead right between the eyes. "Your wrinkle is getting deeper. What are you thinking about?"

Absently, Castiel rubs the spot. Then he accepts the cup of coffee. "Many things, it seems. I don't know what to believe about you."

Dean throws himself down onto the couch, sprawling and sipping at his own coffee. "What _do_ you believe about me?"

After a moment, Castiel says, "I believe that you're being honest with yourself, and therefore me. I believe that you're not here to hurt me. I believe that you have good intentions."

"That's a start," Dean says mildly. "But if you let me show you, you'd believe more about me than just that stuff. Which is good, thanks. I appreciate it."

Maybe it's best to just rip the band-aid off? Castiel eyes Dean. "Fine. Show me."

Dean scoots forward and glances around the room. He picks up the crystal decorative bowl from the coffee table, places it close to Castiel, then balls up a piece of paper from the notebook on the end table. He plops the paper into the bowl and points at it. "Set that paper on fire."

Castiel arches an eyebrow. "How?"

Dean tilts his head from side to side. "You look at it and tell it to burn."

He tries not to laugh, but it happens anyway. "I beg your pardon?"

"It ain't rocket science," Dean says, exasperation touching his words. "You're a witch. This ability has been within you since the day you were born. Once you accept it and try it, it'll be as natural as breathing."

"Instructions like that are like those stupid IKEA drawings that make no sense to assemble furniture," Castiel grouches.

"Just _try_ ," Dean insists.

"I can't just _do_ something that I think is impossible!"

Dean crosses his arms over his chest with a huff. "Dude, seriously, why is it so hard to believe in _any_ of this?"

Castiel spreads his arms wide. "Because you're asking me to believe in _magic_! Magic doesn't exist!"

"You believe in God," Dean points out.

"So?" Castiel demands. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"Seriously?" Dean rolls his eyes. "Wow, you humans are super short sighted. You ever seen God? Had him show up at your house on a Saturday to share a beer? Know anyone who has?"

Castiel snorts. "Of course not."

"Then how do you know he's real?"

"That's a big question, and I know where you're going with this," Castiel says. "You're one of countless people who have asked me the same question. But it's not the same thing. Faith isn't magic."

"The hell it isn't," Dean challenges. "It's _exactly_ like that. Believing in magic is the same faith that you have to believe in God. You can choose not to, but that doesn't make it any less real. That's what faith is. Surely you've said _that_ to all of those people."

That gives him pause. He can't deny what Dean says without being a complete liar, and Castiel isn't that. He's never been that. "I suppose you're right," he says after a time. "But... look. Believing in something that used to only exist in stories, and accepting that I _have_ that same something, is... it's a lot to take in."

Dean approaches him slowly, like he's afraid he might spook him. "I can help you," he says gently. "I know I came on a little strong before, but I really am just here to help you reach your full potential." He takes Castiel's hand gently, mossy green eyes completely sincere.

Castiel huffs a humorless laugh. "Dean. What if... what if I don't want to do that?"

Dean's eyes widen, confused.

Castiel says, "what if I didn't want the magic? I'm not sure I can handle something like that."

Dean smiles. It's a little sexy. "Why would you think that?"

He shrugs. "I'm just an accountant."

Dean laughs. "And? You're smart, strong. You can handle magic. You were chosen for a reason. _That's_ something that I have faith in." He nods over his shoulder.

Castiel follows his gaze and gasps, jumping back. The paper isn't actually on fire, but it's smoldering. Just a breath on it would inspire actual flames.

"I told you," Dean says softly.

Castiel stares at the paper, unblinking. What if Dean's right? What if all of it's actually real? What if it's all true? "I don't know if anyone can be trusted with something like this," he says softly. If he does actually have magic... "Maybe I shouldn't use it at all. It's too dangerous."

"That's a matter of perception," Dean says defensively. "Look, I'm not saying magic is safe. This ain't some parlor trick shit you're gonna be using, but you're better than that. You're not gonna use it to try and take over the world. You're not the type. And, even if you were, you have to use it. You can't ignore it."

"I've been doing that this whole time," Castiel answers.

Dean puts a cold hand on Castiel's shoulder. "It's been killing you."

"I'm fine," Castiel argues.

Dean shakes his head. "No, you're not. It's not gonna go away. You have to let it out. Your body's like a conduit. It's gonna soak up all the magical energy around you, and there's only so much your body can handle before you gotta put it back out into the world."

With a sigh, Castiel says, "then what's the point?"

Incredulously, Dean says, "because that's how the world wants to be. That's how we create balance. Surely you've noticed your planet trying to right itself?"

"Yes," Castiel says, moodily staring at the smoldering paper. "There are plenty of tin hat theories on what's happening. I can guess the highlights you'd suggest." He counts them off on his fingers. "Super storms, high fatality natural disasters, treatment-resistant diseases, things like that."

"You're not totally oblivious," Dean says.

"I was being sarcastic," Castiel deadpans.

"Still right, though," Dean shrugs.

"I can't just magically whisk away disease, Dean."

"'Course not," he scoffs. "You don't have any healing magic that I can tell. You're more elemental."

Castiel spreads his arms and turns his face to the heavens, asking for patience. He doesn't think he'll get it. It's all too much. 

Dean braces his hands on his hips, shakes his head. "Okay. Clearly words mean nothing to you. I'll have to show you something else."

Castiel's gaze falls to Dean warily. "Now what?"

Dean moves a step closer until they're a foot apart and Castiel gets a whiff of freshly turned earth and wildflowers. He claps Castiel's arms to keep him in place when the human tries to jerk away. His touch is much colder than it should be, and Castiel can feel a fine tremor in the man's hands. "I won't hurt you," he says with clear sincerity. "I could _never_ hurt you, Cas."

Castiel swallows convulsively. He _believes_ Dean about that. That's what scares him so much. He knows he shouldn't. He knows all of this is impossible. "Dean," he rasps. 

Those mossy green eyes soften to understanding. He can read the fear. Hear the uncertainty. "No one likes their worldview being fucked with. No one. But the truth will be there ready to bite you in the ass whether you feel like ignoring it or not."

He knows that, too. What he _doesn't_ know is why he has the sudden urge to cry. 

But Dean senses that too, because he reaches up and presses his ice-cold hands to Castiel's face. "You're not alone," he says softly. "Let me show you."

More than anything, Castiel wants to say no. He wants to pull away and kick Dean out. Go back to his boring job and his boring life and fool himself into thinking that he'll be fine that way forever. But something in the recesses of his mind whispers that he'd be more than a fool to do that. There's Dean standing in front of him, begging him to see beyond where he is and what he knows. And the longer he insists, the more the evidence piles up. The parking deck, the paper, the strange tug that's between them.

_At the very least, he's incredibly attractive, so the eye candy could be worse._ The thought nearly cheers him up.

Dean won't hurt him. Dean can't hurt him. So far, it's been true. Whatever is _actually_ happening to him, whatever is the real truth, Castiel firmly believes that Dean won't hurt him. He'd had ample opportunity while Castiel had been in the hospital, after all.

Castiel closes his eyes, gently rests his hands over Dean's, and feels their foreheads touch.

When he opens his eyes again, they're not in his apartment. They're in... well... _nowhere_. All around them as far as he can see is pearl white nothing. But it's not _exactly_ nothing because it shimmers. It _moves_. Undulating with a current that he can't feel, opalescent and beautiful. He idly wonders if this is what it would feel like to be trapped in a lava lamp.

Dean snorts as he pulls back. "No one's ever thought something like _that_ about it before."

Castiel turns in a wide circle. "Where are we?"

"It's hard to explain, but we're sorta inside our bond," Dean answers.

That explains the glowing eyes. "I beg your pardon?"

Dean smiles. "This is like... well..." He turns in a circle, looking for the words. "It's a template kinda. It's where we can envision our bond. As it grows and gets stronger, it'll start to change. More colors, more stuff. Y'know."

"Stuff?" Castiel asks weakly, feeling a bit dizzy now that he can't exactly tell up from down; unsure that there even _is_ one.

"Yeah," Dean says, warming up to the topic. "You can make this place whatever you want. Some things will just sorta appear, but overall, you can decorate it at will."

"I don't understand," Castiel squints. He glances around slowly so as not to make the dizziness worse, but Dean takes his hand to ground him, and suddenly it's easier to focus. Among the milky iridescence, he can make out tiny threads of color. Green and blue dancing and swirling around so lightly that if he tries to look directly at them, he can't see them anymore. 

"Let's try an exercise," Dean suggests, swaying closer to Castiel, and his weight and heat are the only real things here. Or maybe they're not real at all. Being here is decidedly _weird_. "Close your eyes and picture a place that you're comfortable. Somewhere you really like. Relaxes you."

"Anywhere?"

His shoulder tips up. "Sure. Doesn't even have to be real. Could be Arizona, could be Hogwarts. Just somewhere you can see clearly. Then, _feel_ yourself there. Push it out of you and make it real."

Castiel huffs. "How do I push it out of me, exactly?" He tries to ignore how much he likes Dean's crooked smile.

"Hell if I know. It's natural for me. Just..." he shoves his hands out, " _push_! Like you're taking a shit or something. Dunno, man, just try!"

Castiel barks a laugh. "Right," he says doubtfully, but amused. Then he rolls his shoulders. "Okay, fine. I'll try. Here we go." He closes his eyes, and focuses on the first restful place that comes to mind. The lake. The maple trees. The cold, damp air. The soft ground. The dock. The crystal blue sky.

Dean starts to laugh softly beside him. "You actually look like you're trying to take a dump right now."

Castiel doesn't dignify that with a response. He keeps picturing the scene. More and more. Gradually, he can almost _feel_ the cool breeze. Smell the ozone after a fall rain. Hear the clean water.

"Wow," Dean breathes.

He opens his eyes and nearly chokes on his surprise. He's _there_! He's really there! "What happened?" he demands.

Dean's grin is the sun he'd forgotten to picture, but the sky is still bright. "You shat out a mighty fine watering hole, is what!" he says delightedly, moving away and jogging down to the edge of the dock. He raises his hand over his head, flicks his wrist, and then laughs again. The sound doesn't echo like it should; it sounds like the milky muted quality from where they started, but it's still impressive to Castiel. He's almost... proud of himself. "There's fish now!" Dean calls. "Hope you like bass!"

He's got no preference. All he'd cared about was catching them and spending time on the water with his father. Dean has plopped down on the dock facing the lake and Castiel walks slowly over to join him. After a minute, he sits down too, their knees touching. "It's as beautiful as I remember it," he sighs. 

Dean chuckles. "It's beautiful _because_ of how you remembered it. Why this place, though? You didn't strike me as an outdoorsy type."

Castiel smiles inwardly at how Dean doesn't even apologize for asking invasive questions. Like he expects an answer as due course. "I'm not," he admits. "My parents took me when I was a child. All the way through most of college. They had a cabin here. We spent two weeks in summer here and Thanksgiving break in the fall. I liked it in the fall the best. It was cold and I'd sit by the fireplace and read books and drink spiced cider for hours and hours."

Dean nods. "Good memories?"

"Yes. And peaceful."

"So why didn't you conjure up the cabin instead? Why the lake?"

Is an insightful question. Castiel gives it proper thought. Eventually he says, "I'm not entirely sure. My father would wake me up before the sun rose to go fishing. He had this boat. If you could call it that. A beat up aluminum thing with a tiny motor. Barely sea worthy. But he'd pack up a cooler with salami sandwiches and sodas, and we'd fish for _hours_. I never really liked it, but something about it... we talked every now and then, but mostly it was just quiet. We'd take the fish back, and he'd make me gut them, which I hated. Clean them. Then my mother would grill them on the porch. I've never had better fish in my life. I barely eat it now because it's not the same."

Dean's smile is warm, fond. "I love fishing."

"I believe that," Castiel chuckles. He peers into the water. "I should have conjured fishing rods." Almost before the sentence is finished, Dean is holding out a gleaming rod to him. "You're good at this," he attempts for flippant, but it comes out a little nervous. 

"Had a lot of practice," Dean answers, caring his line after Castiel takes hold of the other pole. "I was right about you being stronger than most, though. Most humans take months of practice before they can make anything with so much detail. Your talent is definitely there."

Castiel watches his weight bobbing in the water. He's silent for a long time. Dean only breaks it by reeling in and recasting his line. Castiel appreciates his patience while he adjusts. His mind wanders for several minutes and then he ventures, "I suppose further denial of what's happening would only be foolish and stubborn."

"Wasn't gonna say that," Dean murmurs.

"It's true, though. There's enough evidence. I'm convinced."

"Good to hear," Dean answers neutrally, like he's afraid any enthusiasm will scare Castiel away from his conviction.

"We'll need to set up a space for you in the condo," Castiel continues, reeling in his line and casting again. "If you're staying, I'd feel bad about you sleeping on the couch. Unless..." he steals a glance at the man, "… you _do_ sleep, don't you?"

Dean laughs. "Yeah, I do. Like a normal person, really. I mean, you don't have to go out of your way, really. Your couch looks plenty comfortable. I've slept in worse places."

Castiel can feel his face scrunch up. "No, that won't do. I'd feel bad about it. Proper rest is important. For both of us. The spare room is an office, but I rarely use it except to store files. My old bed is in there, too. There's also a second bathroom, so you can have your own."

"Lap of luxury," Dean teases, though his expression makes it look like he won the lottery. "I appreciate it, man."

"Of course," Castiel says. "It's the least I can do."

Dean grins facing the water and it's soft around the eyes, a little pink in the cheeks.

Castiel swallows at the notice he takes. "What was your last witch like?" he asks with a tiny air of desperation.

"Old when I met her," Dean answers gamely. "Had already discovered her powers, but didn't really know how to use them. One before that was a kid who took to it in seconds, practically. One before that was a legit witch back when magic wasn't so slimy and hard to come by."

Learning that he's probably the most troublesome student Dean's ever taught makes Castiel's shoulders hunch. "And I'm assuming none of them tried to kill the both of you out of pure stubbornness," he mutters shame-faced.

"Nah," Dean agrees, the single breathed syllable shoving Castiel ever lower. "But then again, none of them were as hot as you, either. So that's a _huge_ bonus in my book."

With a startled laugh, Castiel regains his former posture. "You're a flatterer. Or... perhaps an optimist."

"Both," Dean shrugs. "What else can I be when my life literally depends on a _human_ while I'm on this plane? I mean, dunno if you noticed, but humans kinda suck at taking care of each other, never mind other things."

"I can't argue with that," Castiel says thoughtfully, unoffended. "I can barely keep my cat alive, and my bullheadedness almost killed us both on day one of meeting."

Dean chuckles, elated at Castiel's self-deprecation. "At least you own up to it. Wait, you have a cat?"

His sudden interest interests Castiel. "Yes."

"Dude!" Dean jumps to his feet, waving his hands like he's swatting flies. Quickly the image of the lake begins to smear like sidewalk chalk in the rain and then they're both back in the waking world, Castiel gasping at the sudden shift, hit with another wave of vertigo. It takes Dean's steadying hands on his arms to keep him from barfing and falling over. "I love cats, man! Where's the little bastard?"

As if on cue, Gabriel appears out of the bedroom, one of those cats who has never met a stranger. He immediately beelines for the men, meowing and weaving around their legs, rubbing on them enthusiastically. Dean cooes at him and bends down to give him a rub on his ears and back. Gabriel flops over where he stands, enraptured. "Hey, Gabe," he says warmly while Castiel willfully continues to ignore the mind reading thing and how Dean knows the animal's name. Or maybe he can talk to it. He doesn't want to know. His sanity is already on a short enough leash accepting that there's not only magic in the world, but that he possesses it. He hasn't got any room left for psychic links and talking animals. He's so very tired all the sudden.

Which Dean knows, of course. "You should rest," he says, straightening up and giving Castiel an assessing look. "Keep up your energy. Are you hungry?"

Exhaustion is the heaviest weight yet. "No. Just tired." He shuffles towards the bedroom, completely unsurprised that Dean follows him, but stops in the doorway as Castiel crosses the threshold. He doesn't even turn on the lights, comfortable with his memorization of the room. He pulls a pair of ratty cotton pants and a worn t-shirt out of the dresser and strips down to his boxers, back turned to Dean. He thinks he hears an intake of breath, and some kind of warmth pulses through him that doesn't exactly feel like it's coming from him. He pauses. Doesn't turn around. "Dean?"

"Sorry," comes the answer, a little hoarse. "I can close off the link when we don't need to use it."

Slowly, a pressure builds like a sinus headache. Castiel pinches the bridge of his nose against the uncomfortable, yet not exactly painful sensation. Then a profound emptiness is left behind. He turns around after tying his pants, wide eyed. "It feels strange," he says softly. "I didn't think it would, but... I'm not sure I... It's really..." he sighs, perturbed. "I don't like it, Dean."

With a wan smile, Dean steps fully into the room and takes Castiel's hand, as he clear loves to do, guiding him to the bed. "That's a good thing. It means you'll be more receptive when we need to use it." He pulls back the sheets, and Castiel goes without a second thought, sliding under the covers and letting Dean tuck him in.

"You don't have to do that," Castiel admonishes, seeing how Dean rubs his temples for a moment. "I'll get used to it."

"Humans don't enjoy having someone in their head twenty-four-seven," Dean answers. "Trust me, it's better this way. I'll teach you how to control what gets shared between us, and then it'll be better." He pats Castiel comfortingly on the chest like a child as he lays back into the pillows. "Until then, focus on recovering some of your strength. We'll work on the details tomorrow."

"You're very kind," Castiel observes.

"I'm working on it," Dean smiles. "I'll be out playing with the cat if ya need anything." With that, he swings around and leaves without another word. The sound of skittering paws and low laughter make a wonderful soundtrack for Castiel to fall asleep to.


	3. Chapter 03

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Castiel find their rhythm. Time passes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please excuse any typos. I had to edit most of this on my phone.

"Dude, where are all the naked women at?"

Castiel smiles, amused, but doesn't open his eyes. "Why are you here, Dean?"

"I couldn't help it. I'm sorry. I fell asleep. With only a one way barrier, it falls pretty easy."

"Oh. Am I dreaming?"

"Yeah."

"That's why I feel so relaxed." Slowly, he opens his eyes to see Dean sitting cross legged beside him on the bed, peering at him curiously.

"You dream about sleeping? Seriously, man, this is the lamest dream I've ever been in."

"Well, the mind conjures up the things the body craves or worries about the most," Castiel reasons. "That's why I'm dreaming about sleeping. It's actually very nice. I feel wonderful right now."

"That's why I dream about naked women," Dean winks lasciviously.

"Because you don't see them enough?" Castiel quips.

Dean bursts out laughing. "My sex life is fine, thanks. Helps when you're not too picky."

Castiel nods thoughtfully. "Which do you prefer?" he asks casually, voice calm and lazy. He's pretty sure he could never have asked such a question completely awake.

"Whoever I like best at the time," Dean answers.

Castiel smiles serenely. "That's a good answer."

"You're the same?" Dean asks.

"Bisexuality does have that perk," Castiel confirms.

"It's common among witches and familiars," Dean says. "Biologically it makes sense. Bonds between some of us can get pretty intense sometimes. Knowing every thought and every feeling. Taking a piece of that person with you for your whole life on a deeper level than you could ever have with someone else. It can be hard not to have something come out of that."

The gentle way in which he says it interests Castiel. He studies Dean's face. "You're speaking from experience."

He shrugs and shifts to lean back against the headboard. "Not really. I mean, I... well, I felt it once, but it was never given back."

He's embarrassed. Castiel can feel it. "I'm sorry," is all he can come up with to say.

"Why?" Dean counters with a slightly redder face than normal. "Feelings aren't owed back just because one person has them. As long as they're respected on both sides, it's all good."

"You think I'm extremely attractive."

Dean laughs, even redder. "Yeah, man, I do. You already know you're the hottest witch I've been bound to."

"That's good," he muses. He feels a distinct pulse of Dean's embarrassed happiness through the bond. He likes it. 

"You don't have much of a brain to mouth filter, do ya?" Dean mumbles.

"I'm asleep," Castiel says simply. 

"You realize you'll remember this when you wake up, right? So will I."

"That's good," Castiel repeats.

"You're gonna give me gray hair," Dean says fondly.

"Can you even get gray hair?"

"Nope."

Castiel laughs delightedly. He's enjoying feeling Dean in his mind. The man is definitely open. So used to sharing his mind and body with another person that he's completely guileless to it. He's exactly the same on the inside as he is on the outside. He's unafraid of who he is. Castiel is awed by that, especially when he can't sense the tiniest secret hidden in Dean; the thinnest wall, except for the things he's not allowed to know. It's a gift. And Castiel finds himself desperately wanting to cherish it. "Thank you," he says after a minute.

Dean quirks an eyebrow. "For?"

He's not sure how to express "for." But it seems stupid to just answer, "everything." That's not quite right, either. He thinks about it for a second and then says, "for being the one who came to me."

Dean reaches out and squeezes Castiel's shoulder briefly. "I'm glad I did. I really freaking am."

They stare at each other smiling for several heartbeats. "Ah," Castiel gasps suddenly. "Am I about to wake up?"

"Yeah," Dean says. "Gabriel is licking your eyelids."

Castiel grasps Dean's forearm tightly. "Before I do, I want to tell you that I might someday fall in love with you, and I hope that it doesn't make you uncomfortable. I don't want us to be strangers, but I don't think I have the same mental fortitude as your other witches." It's definitely not a warning he could give while awake. Not yet, anyway. "I just... Dean, I like the way that you feel connected to me now that I'm done freaking out about it."

Dean's grin is the brightest thing in existence. "Same," he says softly, and then Castiel blinks awake, Gabriel licking his forehead and the rest of his bed empty.

He can't feel sad about that because Dean's immediately yelling, "there's coffee! I think. Your machine sucks!"

Chuckling, Castiel gathers Gabriel in his arms to move over, and slips out of the bed, far more alert than he's been just after waking up in his life. He walks to the kitchen, sets the cat down in front of his food bowl which Dean has already filled, and looks at Dean in the morning light streaming through the window over the sink. He's beautiful. Dean is beautiful. "Should I say good morning, considering I just saw you?"

"'Morning," Dean chuckles. "Hungry?"

"Yes, but I can cook."

"Bacon?" he asks so hopefully that Castiel bites back a laugh.

"There's some in the freezer. It'll take some time to thaw."

Dean scoffs. "Dude, you can use _magic_. One of the perks is not having to wait on lame shit like thawing bacon."

Castiel moves to the freezer and pulls out the packet. "Oh? That's useful. But you said I was more into elemental magic. How does that translate to thawing this?" He holds it up.

Dean comes up beside him. "Well, okay, this is more advanced since we'll be blending elements to do it, but I'll help you. Once you've got a handle on your skills, you'll be able to do it yourself." He takes the frozen pack and puts it on the counter. Then he maneuvers Castiel directly in front of it, steps behind him, and puts both of his hands on his broad shoulders. Instinctively, Castiel rolls them, tingling under Dean's touch. He can feel the man's warm breath against the nape of his neck when he teasingly murmurs, "feels good, right?"

There are about ten meanings there that Castiel wants to say "yes" to, so he ignores them. "Tell me how to do this."

"A lot of this is really intuition. That's why it seems like I'm just a shitty teacher. In reality, it's something that you gotta feel your way through. When I help you channel magic, it's easiest if we're physically connected, as well as mentally."

"That's why all the touching," Castiel says.

"Mostly," Dean teases. "Yeah, yeah, I can practically feel you rolling your eyes. Anyway, back to business. This is sort of advanced for the mental part. I already know you're gonna have zero issues with the physical part of magic, but mentally is still a bit of a question mark. The trick is to not let your mind wander. If you let stray thoughts in, shit happens that you won't expect."

Castiel draws back from the counter like the bacon is about to jump up and start singing, but Dean is unmoved behind him, so all he manages to accomplish is pressing against a solid wall of muscle and body heat. He tries _really_ hard not to "let his mind wander" to how good it feels. Easier said than done when he can feel Dean's laugh rumble against his back.

"Dude," he says lightly. "I'm here and I'm not gonna let you blow up the world, I promise. Worst you'd do is nothing at all."

Doubtful.

"Stop thinking like that. Come on. Put your hands out over that delicious bacony goodness."

Castiel resolutely doesn't move an inch. 

Even Dean's exasperated sigh is attractive. His hands move away from Castiel's shoulders, to his hands. He grasps them, fighting Castiel's resistance to lift them. "Thought you agreed to be less belligerent."

Castiel clenches his jaw at the annoyed yet amused tone that he _also_ finds attractive. "I can't blow up the world, but I can blow up _us_.

"Fuck's sake, I praised your potential too much before, obviously. Cas, you're not gonna blow up _anything_ , all right? Now, focus, dammit! There's bacon, I want it, defrost it!" Firmly, he slaps his palms over the top of Castiel's hands, brings them forward about a foot over the packet and holds them there with surprising strength.

Castiel's breath stutters in his lungs and he presses his lips shut, unwilling to breathe out.

Dean murmurs into his ear in a lilting calm timbre, "think of a convection oven. Heat and air. Fire and wind, yeah? Not setting anything on fire, no flames. More like the sun. Warming up the air and focusing it on a small, fixed point. That glorious, smoky bacon. Melt that ice away so we can eat all of it and be happy."

Castiel snorts an almost-laugh. But he does as he's told with a singular focus. After a long minute where nothing at all happens, he starts to feel something. A pleasant something. It begins as a slowly building warmth and tingling sensation in his chest that spreads over to his arms, down to his hands. Before his very eyes, the ice begins to melt off of the packet. "Oh, my God," he murmurs.

"Doing great," Dean says in that same earthy voice. "Now just ease up and imagine that magic dispersing."

He's not entirely sure how to do that, but tries by picturing it all shimmering away like the end of a sparkler. It seems to do the trick.

Dean says, "you did it," and steps away.

He did? He did. He _did_. He _fucking did_! He turns, giddy with the high of accomplishment, beaming at Dean. And he notices the man looks a lot better than he has for the past day. The smudges under his eyes are gone, as is the slouch in his shoulders, the dullness in his eyes. The elation mixes with the guilt and it feels strange. He wants to apologize.

But Dean seems perfectly pleased by the turn of events. "That was amazing!" he says.

"You're an excellent teacher," Castiel deflects.

Dean moves around him to grab the pack of bacon, opening it and setting up the frying pan. "Feeling better now? Probably didn't seem like much, but any magic you expel at this point will probably have a noticeable effect."

"My headache's gone," Castiel agrees. "How... how are _you_ feeling?"

"Had a good snack," Dean winks over his shoulder. "I'm doing good."

Castiel fidgets behind him for a second, shifting his weight from foot to foot. He can feel it in his own head that Dean doesn't want him to apologize. That he hadn't reacted to learning about magic in a way that was unfamiliar. "I'm sorry," he blurts, anyway. "I'm sorry I made you suffer with me."

"It's part of the package deal," Dean answers, obviously having expected the reaction. "As long as you keep trying like you are now, we'll be fine."

Castiel nods a few times, absorbing that. "Thank you, Dean."

"You're welcome," he says gruffly.

It's silent except for the sounds of sizzling bacon, until Castiel asks, "am I going to have to quit my job or something? Find a different one? I emailed my boss to cash in a lot of my sick days, so I've got a while off, but after that?"

"You don't have to quit if you don't want to," Dean answers. He brings the pan with bacon and fried eggs over to the table and divides it between two plates.

"What about you?" Castiel asks, pulling out his chair and sitting down. "We can't be physically that far apart, and I don't know how I'd explain you around the office."

Dean's eyes widen in understanding. "Oh! Yeah, no, that won't be a problem. The stronger our bond is, the greater a distance it can sustain. If we boost it some more then you'll easily be able to do a nine to five without me hanging around. I mean... unless you work an hour away from here."

"No," Castiel smiles. "The only reason that I tolerate city living is because it's within walking distance of here."

"Easy done," Dean says, drowning his eggs in ketchup and digging in.

Castiel tries to eat with as much enthusiasm as Dean, but the guilt is eating at him faster. He can't quash it, no matter how much it makes Dean's brow furrow as it niggles at him too. "Dean."

He glances up.

"I want you to know that I'm grateful to you. I'm glad you're here, and frankly, I would be even if we weren't saving each other's lives. Your whole entire existence is built around being selfless. You're completely at the mercy of my whims, and while that's not fair, you should know that there's nothing I'll put above that."

He looks more and more confused as Castiel keeps talking. The serving of eggs hanging halfway to his mouth tumbles off of the fork. "Okay?" he ventures.

"Hang on." Castiel pushes out of his chair in consternation, retreats to the bedroom, and then reappears a moment later. He sits back down, slaps his credit card on the table, and shoves it across to Dean. "Buy anything you want," he demands.

Dean glances at the card. Then back up to Castiel. Slowly, he lowers his fork to his plate. "You're not my sugar daddy."

Castiel sighs. "I know that. I'm being serious."

"You don't have to pay me off."

Is he mistaken, or does he suddenly feel _anger_ coming through the bond. "I'm not," he hastens to assure Dean.

Dean jiggles the credit card at him. "I'm not your fucking employee, either."

Definitely anger, then. Castiel sighs audibly. This isn't going at all like he'd planned. He puts his fork down and reaches across the table to take Dean's hand firmly, pressing the credit card into it. An encouraging shock of static electricity snaps between them. Dean doesn't pull away. "That's not my intention. Can't you feel that?"

Dean stares at him - through him - for several heartbeats, but his eyes are still hard. "What I feel from you is a metric shit ton of guilt. And you feeling better about giving me money. If that's not paying me off to make you feel better, what the hell is it?"

Castiel loosens his grip, but doesn't release Dean. "It's me saying that I want you to be able to call this place your home. We're... we're going to be together for a long time, correct?"

Cautiously, Dean nods.

Smiling encouragingly, Castiel continues, "that means this home is yours now, too. I mean, if what you're saying about the bond is true, then I won't stop you from getting your own place, especially if that's normal, but what I'm _trying_ to do is make sure that you feel welcome here, and also that you're comfortable here. I don't want you to settle for my tastes and say it's good enough. No one should have to do that for the long term."

Dean shakes his head wryly. "Cas, I... no one's ever...."

"Well, I'm not everyone else," Castiel insists. "So, I want you to buy the things that you want to make yourself a home here, too. I don't care what. I'm not really picky or set in my ways." He smiles a little, easily picking up on Dean's thought. "No, we don't need to redecorate _everything_. But you can do whatever you want with the spare room. It's yours now."

Dean fiddles with the card, rolling it between his fingers like a magician doing a trick. "What if I just took this and spent all your money?"

Castiel gestures around. "What else am I using it on?" Dean laughs. "I'm serious. Dean, I doubt this comes as a surprise to you, but I'm fairly boring. I don't have expensive hobbies, I don't go out, I don't take vacations. I've got plenty of money sitting around. That's the only thing that I have too much of. So, go ahead and spend it. I think... it'll make us both happy."

"I'm gonna buy plants," Dean warns. "Lots of them." As much as he appreciates Castiel doing more for him than anyone else he's ever known, they're still too far away from the growing things.

"I'll help you put them around," Castiel says, easy as you please.

Dean grins. "Thanks, Cas."

Castiel really loves it when Dean smiles like that.

x ~ o ~ O ~ o ~ x

After lunch, Dean says that he's going out, as he says, "to see to their needs." He swipes the grocery list off of the fridge and assures Castiel that since he worked a small amount of magic, their bond won't be so strained over the three blocks to the grocery store.

"What if something happens?" Castiel frets.

"Like what?" Dean smiles.

"I don't know," he mumbles, irritated at his own worry.

Dean shrugs. "Just call me."

"You haven't got a cell phone," Castiel points out.

Dean taps the side of his head and thinks, _I'll hear you._

Castiel jumps slightly and winces. It's fairly uncomfortable to have Dean's voice in his head so suddenly. Almost like a small electrical shock.

"It'll get easier," Dean says out loud. "Seriously, though, I won't be long." He steps close to Castiel and squeezes his arm. The way that he looks at him, Castiel almost thinks he's going to be kissed. But Dean pulls back at the last second with a strangely intimate sort of smile. "See ya."

Castiel stands perfectly still watching Dean walk out the door. It's scary. He vividly remembers the pain of their test parting, and he's not keen on reliving that any time soon. But as the seconds and minutes pass, no pain emerges. Just a slight twinge of tightness and anxiety at being parted. Which he thinks is foolish. He's been alone for as long as he can remember. There's no reason for him to miss Dean so much already.

Except for the fact that he can and does. Their connection is... profound. Much deeper than any two humans could find by themselves. There's a necessary intimacy between them. And he wonders with even more anxiety what will happen as it grows. It's not the worst thing that he can imagine, truthfully. He hopes they're worthy of each other.

Then he immediately feels weird for thinking that. Then he feels weird for feeling weird. Then he blows a hard breath out from his mouth. It's time to stop being ridiculous.

At the very least he should be productive. He goes to the spare bedroom and glances around. It's mostly become his storage room and office over the years, and he's pretty sure that Dean would appreciate some space. Especially to accommodate all the plants he'd threatened to bring home. The thought of drowning in plants actually makes him smile. Castiel himself is terrible at taking care of plants, but he's willing to learn. Pay more attention.

Gabriel wanders in, pausing in the doorway to sniff the room. Apparently he approves, because he sidles up to Castiel a moment later and rubs all over his legs. "You like Dean here, don't you?" Castiel murmurs.

Gabriel chirrups and walks the entire room, scenting everything before jumping up onto the bed and thoroughly studying Dean's pillow before settling down on it.

"I like having him here, too. Let's clean this room up a little, shall we?"

Gabriel closes his eyes in response. Castiel grins, then starts on the small desk by the window, sorting through the scattered papers and general office detritus that's piled accumulated. He's got empty packing boxes in the closet, though not enough energy to move anything too heavy. It's at least enough to get the clutter under control. He removes everything unimportant from the desk, the personal items from the dresser, consolidates the drawers just in case Dean wants to buy more clothes instead of magicking them into being, and drags the nightstand back to the side of the bed where he'd shoved it out of the way before. Every now and then he feels a slight surge of pure happiness or excitement. At first, he thinks it's him, then realizes he's actually getting snippets of _Dean's_ emotions through their fragile bond. He smiles every time. Dean must be having fun doing whatever he's doing.

Once finished, he surveys his work, pleased. It's impersonal now, but move-in ready. The sheets are clean, everything has been dusted, and there's plenty of room for Dean to personalize the space. He should probably be concerned about how easily he's accepted a whole life with Dean, but he can't bring himself to muster up the worry. Hopes he never has to.

Thanks to the frequent breaks in work, three hours have passed by the time he's finished. He's missed lunch, but isn't all that hungry, anyway. He's got a fruit salad in the fridge, settles on that. He's a few bites in when the front door bangs open. There's a lot of scraping, grunting, and cursing. Castiel rushes over to help. He doesn't seen Dean immediately, but he does see a red wagon filled with potted plants. Large ones. And there's more on the way when Castiel drags the first load inside and peers into the hallway. Ferns, flowers, herbs, everything. Dean appears with an armload of spider plants. "Hey!" he beams.

"This is... a lot," Castiel comments, moving everything Dean's piled into the hallway to the living room. He's not angry and Dean can tell because his smile doesn't falter for a second.

"You said I could. Trust me, all this growing stuff will make us both feel a hell of a lot better. Makes the magic easier to use, seeing as how you're elemental."

"We'll never be able to eat the amount of tomatoes these plants will produce," he says nodding towards a second wagon.

"Good thing I'm awesome at canning, thanks to an old witch I served for a long time back in the day."

"Hope you like pasta," Castiel smiles.

Dean laughs. "I like most food."

"You seem like the type."

It takes them the better part of two hours to place all of the plants around the condo, though a lot of them end up turning Dean's room into a forest. He notices the changes Castiel made, too, sending a large surge of gratitude through the bond. It's all the thanks that Castiel needs.

Gabriel appears to enjoy the explosion of green in the condo as well. He sniffs all of them, climbs in the larger pots, chews on some of the leaves.

"Maybe this wasn't the best thought out idea," Castiel notes, dragging Gabriel away from one of the hanging plants for about the hundredth time.

Dean shrugs and points to the windowsill in the living room. "Put him in that. It's cat grass. Catnip right next to it. And all the plants are cat friendly. None of the ones we're keeping inside will accidentally poison him."

"That's good. I'm also worried he'll just start using those ferns as a litter box."

Dean laughs. "How about I train him and keep an eye on him until he learns?"

"Helpful, thank you."

So it goes.

Castiel and Dean find quite a rhythm over the next several weeks. Castiel is well enough to return to work on Monday. By Wednesday, Dean is waking up with the sunrise to make breakfast before Castiel's alarm has even gone off. By Friday, Castiel doesn't even need his alarm because their bond has strengthened enough so that he can probe into Castiel's mind to wake him up much more gently. He says it makes Castiel less grouchy in the morning, but people can't change _that_ much, and Castiel continues to squint and grumble over his first cup of coffee.

When Castiel gets home in the evenings, he's often drained from his stress and from being so far away from Dean, straining the bond until it feels frayed and achy. The solution also lies in the plants. Dean stands with him, walking him in a circuit of the condo to water and give "encouragement" to the plants. He teaches Castiel to call up tiny rainstorms that hang just over the soil in each pot, wetting it, and eventually not spilling over onto the hardwood floors. 

However, Castiel steadfastly refuses to talk to the plants. Dean insists that _all_ living things enjoy being told how much they're loved, but Castiel says that he's suspended he's accepted enough fantastical ideas for the time being. Dean only shrugs and talks to the plants himself.

Castiel secretly thinks it's adorable. It becomes a part of the evening ritual. Castiel calls the rain and Dean follows after, brushing his fingers over the leaves and murmurs to them about how lovely their leaves are, how pretty their flowers, how understanding they are of Gabriel. It turns the routine into an hour of watering, and Castiel marvels at how Dean has changed more than he thinks about him. Before, Castiel would have called the whole thing a waste of time. Perhaps going so far as to be angry at how much of his life is being wiled away with nothing he considers production.

But, he's not angry. He's happy. The air inside is fresher, his energy is increasing, there's more natural light since Dean insists on leaving the windows and balcony doors open all day, rain or shine.

Gradually, time becomes so much less important than it's ever been. The calendar hung on the fridge eventually becomes outdated when Castiel ceases to mark off the days. The sole way he recognizes the weekdays is by Dean telling him in his dreams that it's time to wake up. The weekends are marked by Dean joining him in his dreams and sharing stories and secrets that don't cross the bond on their conscious minds when they're awake.

Therefore it comes as a surprise when Dean brings home a box load of fireworks one evening while Castiel is in the kitchen making them a stew with the winter vegetables they'd grown. "What's all that?" he asks curiously.

"You're not working tomorrow," Dean says. "It's New Year's Eve."

"Oh," Castiel says. "I lost track of the days. Feels like Christmas was just yesterday. We can go to the roof to light those off. No one ever does. Most people actually go to the downtown display because it's so close."

"So, we'll have the place to ourselves." Dean gives him a lewd wink that makes Castiel laugh. They've grown comfortable flirting over the months. Another thing that Castiel would never have considered before.

"Yes. Did you get champagne?"

"And party hats!" Dean confirms, pulling out the most gaudy, glittery paper hats Castiel has ever seen.

Castiel turns from the stove, leaning against the counter beside it. "Would you rather go to the park for the big show? We're not often around other people and I don't want you to feel isolated."

"I don't," Dean answers, but there's something shuttered in his gaze suddenly, and a minute piece of the bond carefully shut off. Castiel doesn't question it, or react. Their trust has grown enough to not worry.

Castiel nods, and that's that.

Honestly, he's fine with just Dean. The following night, they troop to the roof with the fireworks, setting them off right after dark, laughing and drinking a whole bottle of champagne an hour before midnight. Though Dean has always stressed never performing magic while intoxicated, he still helps Castiel light off the bottle rockets with magic. That much is like second nature by now, so there's no risk to life and limb.

Once they've exhausted their artillery, they perch together on the edge of the roof facing the city center so they can see the professional show. They huddle together for warmth underneath one of Castiel's old wool afghans. It's the perfect night for fireworks. Clear skies and cold enough that they can make out some stars.

It's moments like these that Castiel loves the most. The bond between them seems to hum with contentment, feeding the affection back and forth. It's become a constant that Castiel knows he'd be absolutely bereft without should it ever stop. Sometimes he worries about what Dean had said when they'd first met. That as Castiel aged, the bond would get weaker as his magic declined until his death. It's terrible to think about. As much as he doesn't want Dean to die with him, he also doesn't want to think of a time where they can't share themselves. Dean rarely closes off any part of the bond now that Castiel's learned how to control the flow as well.

Dean leans back on his hands, right arm sliding behind Castiel and resting against his back. Seemingly out of nowhere he says, "what you said yesterday about feeling isolated..."

Castiel tilts his head to acknowledge that he's listening.

"I do," Dean admits. "Sometimes."

"Can we fix that?" Castiel asks.

Dean shakes his head. "It's not on you. I mean, I'm here on this plane, right? I'm a non-human in a world full of humans. I mean... as much as I'm good with you, I can't relate to the broader populace, y'know?" He gestures to the city below. "One at a time, I'm good, but I think I'd be pretty crap at being able to relate to people who aren't you."

That's a surprise. "Why? You've always been fine with me. If I hadn't known you weren't human, I never would have guessed."

Dean shrugs. "That's 'cause I'm connected to you. I can learn stuff you know, hear stuff you think. I can relate to you because we're half of a whole, right? That's how I've always been with my witches. It's like a crutch. I never learned how to _actually_ communicate with humans like you do. If I can't read their thoughts and feelings, I'm fucking lost."

Castiel mulls that over. It makes perfect sense. "What about your family? Is there anyone here you could visit? I wouldn't mind at all if you did. Or if you wanted to invite them here. What about Sam? Is he still on Earth?"

"Yeah," Dean confirms. "He gets called here a lot. He came home right before I was sent to you. He always brings back human stuff. His house is crammed with all sorts of shit back home. But then he's only back for maybe a month before he's called out again."

Castiel smiles. "That explains why you know stuff like _Harry Potter_."

"Yeah," Dean grins back. "Sammy brought those damn books back and begged me to read them. They were pretty good."

Castiel chuckles. "And not at all how magic really works."

"Besides that."

The chuckle turns into a full laugh. "That's the whole _point_ of them!"

Dean's retort is cut off by the first volley of fireworks less than a mile from where they're sitting. Dean's head whips forward to watch like a delighted child. In that moment, Castiel can't bring himself to look at anything besides his familiar. He also does nothing to block off the rush of emotion that floods through the bond.

It's strong enough that it arrests Dean's attention. His gaze slides back to meet Castiel's. His expression is a wonder.

"Happy New Year," Castiel murmurs between bangs from the show.

Dean leans over and kisses him on the lips.

From the cloudless sky above them, magicked snow begins to fall.


	4. Chapter 04

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and his witch, Bobby appear for a visit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said I'd update this almost daily, but when I was editing it, I totally changed track, and am now rewriting a good deal of it. I think it'll be better in the end, though!

"I've always wondered what would happen if an elemental and a familiar kissed on this plane," a thoughtful voice says.

Castiel startles and jerks away from Dean. He almost topples over completely when his familiar jumps to his feet and throws himself at the taller of the two men standing a few feet away. "Sam!" he yells, hugging the guy tightly, thumping him on the back.

Sam hugs back just as enthusiastically with a warm smile. "Hey, Dean," he says affectionately.

Castiel blinks. Sam? His eyes widen. Dean's brother!

"I came here to surprise you, but you beat me to it!" Sam grins.

He's not sure why, but Castiel is surprised that there's no suspicion from Dean's brother. Just the open curiosity he assumes is part of being a familiar, since they themselves can't be anything but.

Without missing a beat, Dean returns to Castiel's side, grabs his hand, and pulls him forward. The absolute _joy_ coming through the bond puts Castiel immediately at ease. "This is Castiel Novak, my witch. Elemental. Duh. Obviously," Dean introduces.

Castiel holds his hand out to shake. Sam's grip is firm and friendly. "I'm Sam. Dean's brother." He gestures to the older man. "This is Bobby Singer, my witch. Runic and Summoner."

"Wow," Dean says, clearly impressed. "Nice to meet you."

"Uh huh," Bobby says, shaking hands all around. "Figured we'd come see y'all now while there's time off. Sam never stops talking about his big brother."

"Are you staying for a while, then? You're welcome to stay in our condo," Castiel offers. It's the right thing to do since they're family. Well, two of them are. He and Bobby are more like distant cousins? Or something. He clears his throat to get back on track. "It's not huge, but there's plenty of room for guests." He enjoys the look Dean gives him and the surge of affection at the mention of the home being "theirs."

Bobby shoots Sam a completely different look and the tall familiar rolls his eyes, clearly hearing something through their bond. "We appreciate it," he says pointedly. Then, "Bobby thinks it's living large to stay at a Motel 6."

"Gross," Dean laughs. "They're still gross, right?"

"So gross," Sam confirms.

"Beggars can't be choosers," Bobby grouches. "But, fine. We'll stay here. Wanna show me the ropes, Novak? I'm freezing my balls off out here." It's not exactly the most subtle push to let the brother's be alone, but Castiel accepts gracefully, nodding over Bobby's shoulder to the door.

Sam and Dean are staring at each other in such a way that both humans are positive means they're talking telepathically, or whatever it is, so Castiel leads Bobby back towards the rooftop fire door and down the two flights of stairs to his floor. The second the front door of the condo is closed, Bobby turns to him, crossing his arms over his chest. He sounds exactly like a chastising parent when he asks, "what're you doing with your familiar, boy?"

Taken aback, Castiel says, "what?" Perhaps he should have expected the question seeing as how Bobby and Sam had caught them red handed, but it's a surprise.

"Making out like a couple'a horny prom dates."

Castiel rubs the back of his neck. "I honestly don't know. I hadn't planned on it."

"It just happened?" Bobby says sarcastically.

Drawing up his shoulders, Castiel answers, "yes," defiantly.

"You got any idea what a dumb thing that is?"

Usually not impolite to strangers or guests, Castiel's a little ashamed of his own scoff. "How? Dean's going to be with me for the rest of my life. Surely you're aware of how strong the bonds between witches and their familiars are. I don't think it's strange at all that deeper feelings may develop."

Bobby groans, sinking heavily onto the sofa, absently petting Gabriel's head as the cat refuses to be moved from his repose on the throw pillow next to him, stranger or not. "You must be new to this."

"I am," Castiel says defensively. "It's only been half a year, but I think I know enough."

"Clearly you don't." Bobby raises his free hand and traces an elaborate symbol in the air that shines pink for a split second and then is gone. "That'll keep those nosy Nancies from overhearing."

"Why would you do that?" Castiel demands, acutely feeling the block from Dean deep in his sternum. It's uncomfortable. He hates it.

"'Cause you and I need to talk." He points to the chair next to the couch like he owns the place. "Sit."

Castiel complies warily. "I take it you and Sam have been together for a long time."

"Yeah," Bobby confirms. "Probably going on two decades now. He's a good kid. Well, I say 'kid,' but he only looks that way. I'll be honest with ya, Castiel, the reason we came for this little family visit is two-fold. One, Sam missed his brother. Two, Sam is worried about his brother."

"What for?"

Bobby shrugs, face pulling into an uncomfortable grimace. "He says Dean gets too invested in his witches. Whenever their time on Earth intersects, Sam makes a serious effort to pop in on the family every now and then."

Castiel sighs. "I realize I have no room to say this after tonight, but I don't think that's true about Dean. He's told me about the others. I'm the only one it's gone... deeper with."

"And you don't see a problem with that?" Bobby says. "Boy, there's a _reason_ our bonds are only meant to go so far."

"And what's that?" He asks, feeling the petulance rising in his tone.

"Because familiars are nearly immortal and not human," he says plainly. "Despite what you may think, the bonds aren't supposed to make you exclusive. They're supposed to make life easier for the witch and the familiar. Not isolate us. I was married even while Sam was my familiar. Karen passed away, but she knew all about what was going on with me and Sam." He leans forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. "We've got a symbiotic relationship with our familiars, yes, but outside of the magic, we're oil and water. That's all we're meant to be."

As respectfully as he can, Castiel says, "I don't believe that, Mr. Singer."

"Bobby," he corrects automatically.

"Bobby, then. I'm sorry, but I truly don't believe that. Even if I did, we can't choose our feelings, can we? Especially when they're reciprocated."

Oddly, Bobby's reaction to that is to smile slightly. "I realize that. Far as I'm concerned, what's done is done. And Sam's up there giving Dean the same lecture. All I'm saying is that you two need to be careful. More careful than you would with some schmo you met online, or wherever it is people find love these days."

Castiel folds his hands in his lap, staring down at them uncomfortably. Bobby is doing a fine job of voicing some of his own fears. Dean hasn't talked much about what could happen if a witch and a familiar overstep the bond. In fact, Castiel is under the impression that he might not actually know. Or he's been excellent at withholding. He's uneasy suspecting that it's the latter. "We haven't really talked about it beyond the very basics. Tonight really was the first time anything happened."

"You're smart," Bobby relents. "But you still need to use your head through this one."

"I know, thank you," he says sincerely.

"No problem. Now. You got any beer hiding around this indoor forest?" he asks, peering around at all the plants.

Castiel grins. "I live with _Dean_. There's plenty of beer."

***

"Uh, Dean, what the hell?" Sam demands as soon as he feels the wall go up from Bobby's spell. He's used to the blocks, but is interested to see that Dean clearly isn't, the way he flinches when he feels it. Neither Dean nor Castiel can perform rune spells, but it's still telling that the human hasn't made an effort to put up mental walls with any regularity.

"Yeah, hi, hey, nice to see you again after twenty years, too."

Sam rolls his eyes. "This preempts that. It's really good to see you, of course, but seriously? What the _hell_."

"It was just a kiss, Samantha," Dean grumbles, though quite amused by Sam's usage of Earth terms like "hell." Kid stays on this plane way too often. "Don't be a prude."

"There's no such thing as 'just a kiss' between a witch and a familiar, idiot."

"Is this why you came here? To lecture me? On a holiday?"

Sam's whole body droops. The guilt trip gets him every time. "No, it's... no, Dean. I really did want to see you just to see you." At Dean's arched eyebrow, he caves further. "Okay, fine. After last time, I was worried."

He figured. "Things have changed since then."

"Clearly," Sam deadpans. "Now your witch actually likes you back. That's so risky, Dean."

"I'm not a fledgling. I fucking _know_ that, Sam."

"Don't yell at _me_ ," he bites back defensively. "What do you think is gonna happen if you continue with this? Castiel is gonna age, your bond will weaken, he'll die, and then what? What happens when you're not letting it go like you should?"

Easing himself down onto the cold bricks of the roof ledge, Dean says, "Maybe I'll... maybe it'll be like..."

"No," Sam says sharply. "It won't be like Mom and Dad."

"You can't know that," Dean says quietly, eyes unfocused on the ground. He can't even muster an ounce of argumentativeness. There's too much honesty in his feelings for Castiel to play it off as anything else.

"You can't either," Sam answers much more gently, sitting beside his brother. "Everyone says that Mom and Dad were the exception. Their bond was stronger than anyone had ever seen. Even the Elders didn't believe it at first. You can't just fall in love and take a human back with you. That would take... _so much_ that Castiel may not be capable of. And if it didn't... Dean, you'd be stranding his soul in the ether and yourself-"

"I fucking know that!" Dean jumps up. There's that beautiful belligerence he'd been hoping for. He stomps from the ledge to the HVAC and back again like a caged animal. "I _know_ what'll happen if we screw it up! I've thought about it for _months_! Ever since Cas said-" he chokes off the end of the sentence and scrubs his hands through his hair.

Sam steps in front of him to stop him from breaking away again. Eyeing his brother suspiciously, he asks, "what did Cas say?"

Green eyes deep with sadness, worry, Dean says, "we'd only known each other a few days by then. Maybe a week. I was dream walking him and right before he woke up... he said that he could see himself falling in love with me."

Sam snorts. "And you did nothing to deter him." It's not a question.

"No."

"Why not?"

"You've seen him, right?" Dean snarks.

"That is _so_ not good enough," Sam laments. "Dean, I get it. You've always had this..." he gestures vaguely with his hands, "big heart, or whatever. And that's what makes you a great familiar. But you can't damn this poor guy's soul because you're in love with him."

"I'm not," Dean insists. "Not... either thing."

With a noisy sigh, Sam says, "well, you're about to be, so you're splitting hairs. Figure it out, and make _absolutely_ sure it doesn't end the wrong way." He turns to go join the humans downstairs.

"Sam." Dean lunges forward and grabs his brother's arm pleadingly. "He's important to me. More than anything. More than anyone, except you. He won't be the one hurt in the end if I can't do enough."

Sam shakes his head sadly. "That's what worries me as your brother. I don't wanna see you hurt, either."

Dean drops his arm and guides his brother towards the condo. "Doesn't matter. It'd be worth all of it to me. I'd let him go if it came to that."

Right before he opens the door, Sam says softly, "that worries me, too. And it's easier said than done. By a long shot."

But then they're stepping inside to find their witches on the couch with beers in their hands, laughing like they're drunk even though they can't possibly be.

"And _then_ ," Bobby says, sloshing his beer with his gesticulating, "the old bastard tried to _hex_ me! But he sucked at it because all it did was give me a cough for a few days. So, I summoned an imp!"

"Like in the lore?" Castiel giggles, blue eyes bright.

"Yeah, they're exactly as you picture them. Small, noisy, annoying as all hell. Great for pranks 'cause you don't gotta pay them. Just promise them they can be assholes. Imp followed Rufus around for a _month_ , and he never saw it! Never knew it was there! It would move his keys, raid his fridge. Stop up his toilet. Steal one sock in a pair. Old dog thought he was going crazy or his hex had backfired. He wanted to kill me when I finally came clean."

They both laugh uproariously, Sam and Dean watching on bemused. "Having fun?" Sam asks lightly.

Both of their heads come up like they hadn't heard their familiars approaching. Bobby winks and makes another complicated air gesture. All four of them sigh when their bonds reconnect fully. "Got done with our feelings talk early and got bored waiting for your emotional asses to finish up."

"There's more beer in the kitchen," Castiel adds.

Dean grins. "You sure? You feel a little tipsy."

He shrugs. "It'll pass. I can hold my alcohol well, though that champagne before almost had me feeling something."

Sam and Bobby laugh. "I like him," Bobby says.

"Can I bring our luggage up?" Sam, the more practical one, asks.

Castiel nods. "Of course. And I was serious before. Stay as long as you like. You won't be putting me or Dean out. I go back to work in a week, but other than that, we don't have anything special planned."

"Good," Sam says. "Actually, we thought we'd help with some of the magic buildup around town while we're here. Bobby's in Sioux Falls. It's a smaller place, so we can leave it unattended for a while. The areas around cities need a lot more work to disperse more magic."

"That'd be nice," Dean agrees quickly, shooting relief through the bond. Castiel senses his talk with his brother had been much heavier than he liked, and was now greatly appreciating the subject change. "We've been doing what we can, but I haven't sensed many witches in the area lately."

Bobby kicks his feet up on the coffee table, making himself at home. "We've noticed some winter weather patterns that are looking kinda shady, so figured you could use the assist."

"That would be wonderful," Castiel says. "But can you help with elemental magic? Personally, I can't do anything beyond what I already know."

"Nah, I'm not much for elemental magic, but there's plenty of other stuff I can channel to help. Every little bit adds up for the rest not being so severe," Bobby says. "The stuff I do is rare enough that I try to be useful elsewhere. Sam's helped a lot with that."

Sam beams. "You're one of the best, Bobby."

"Ah!" Castiel exclaims, suddenly understanding. "That's why Sam is so often on Earth. If there aren't a lot of humans who can do that type of magic, then there probably aren't many specialized familiars for it, are there?"

"Not for now," Dean agrees, thumping down beside Castiel on the sofa. "We can train for whatever we like, but it's supply and demand, y'know? And certain specialties run in families, though Sammy and I are a rare breed who didn't have a choice. We can't do more than what we're specialized for."

"Why not?" Castiel's eyes flit from Dean to Sam to Bobby, but with the recognition on all their faces, he must be the only one who doesn't know any of this. Sam looks uncomfortable, Bobby neutral, and Dean's the one who answers.

"'Cause Dad was human. Halflings like us don't have the full range of powers that most familiars do."

"It's rare," Sam says. "Pretty... uh... unheard of, actually. Familiars bringing humans with them after they die. It's kinda frowned upon in our world."

Bobby rolls his eyes. "They're gonna beat around the bush 'til the cows come home, so I'll lay it out for ya. When a human dies, their souls go up to Heaven or down to Hell, right? And when that happens, the familiar goes back to their home and waits for another compatible human with magic to be called up. There's lots of myths and legends about it, in fact. Some folks who believe in reincarnation think the same familiar gets the same soul again and again, and that's why some wait longer for their calls than others."

"You're getting off track, Bobby," Sam says patiently, as though it's something he often says.

"Just givin' backstory, keep your panties on," Bobby grouches. "Anyway, there are times when a familiar and a witch can have a really strong bond. Stronger than normal. For example, when they fall in love like you two idjits are starting to do." He points between Dean and Castiel who both have the decency to look ashamed. "John Winchester, human, fell in love with Mary, his familiar, and they nurtured that for decades. Kept the bond strong all the way up to his death."

Castiel holds up a hand. "Wait a minute. Dean, you told me that bonds fade naturally over time as the witch's magic decreases with age. If that's the case, how did John and Mary keep the bond until his death?"

Bobby takes another deep sip of his beer. "Well, that's the natural order of things. In a normal relationship between us, the bond fades when the magic fades, but that ain't saying it _has_ to. If both parties hang on to it too tightly, it sticks around. It'll weaken, but it won't necessarily break. And if it's strong enough when the human dies, that soul can be carted right away to the Undying Lands by the familiar, where they can frolic forever, or whatever it is they do for eternity."

"I see," Castiel says thoughtfully. "Why's that frowned upon?"

Dean shrugs. "'Cause the bond never breaks after that. Not ever. That means the familiar can't go back to Earth and help another witch. They stay back for eternity on the sidelines."

"Which isn't so bad," Sam cuts in. "Mom and Dad do plenty of stuff back home. She's benched from coming here, but plenty of our people don't. Usually it's after a few thousand years, so it's more like retirement, but you get the idea."

Dean nods. "It's discouraged because if everyone did it, that'd be too many people out of the workforce, y'know? It's not exactly the natural order, so it can tip the balance."

"Everything in moderation," Castiel murmurs. "I understand."

"Good," Bobby says, "'cause it's time to address the elephant in the room now that you know what's up with the rest of it. It's not just balance and order that keeps those bonds from happening. It's also pretty freaking dangerous."

Castiel slumps back against the pillows. Of course it is. 

Dean hears his thought and grimaces in sympathy as Bobby says, "if the bond isn't strong enough to cart off the human soul to the familiar's realm after death, that human soul gets stuck in Purgatory and the familiar dies, too. Permanent."

Castiel's panic is strong enough that Dean is compelled to put a hand on his shoulder. He looks at his familiar, who is peering back at him open and affectionate, and it's a _much_ bigger deal than he'd been led to believe. "We should talk about this later," he says to Dean. "Alone."

"Yeah, ya should," Bobby interjects. "And decide if some heavy petting is worth the risk."

"Bobby," Sam admonishes, but says nothing else. He agrees that it's not worth it. Which is perfectly reasonable, Castiel thinks.

But that doesn't mean Castiel is ready to accept it. It's a lot to think about, and probably not all at once, but it _is_ important to him and to Dean. There's no denying that something's there between them. But how good? There's no way of knowing. No matter what, they'll have to be on the same page or it'll never work. 

However, the subject is blessedly dropped thereafter. Castiel is interested to know more about where Sam and Dean come from, and the two familiars are happy to share stories of life in the Summerland, though they're obviously practiced in avoiding mentioning anything that the humans shouldn't have knowledge of. In turn, Bobby tells Castiel and Dean about his scrap yard full of junk cars that predictably has Dean nearly salivating. Castiel promises they'll visit as soon as possible so that Dean can go dumpster diving. Slyly, Sam mentions he's taken note of several cars that would be of great interest to his older brother.

Of course, Dean ruins a bit of Castiel's good mood when he says, "dude, Bobby I _gotta_ come visit. Do you have any idea how hard it's been to suffer a _Prius_ for the last six months?"

Bobby sympathizes and launches into a dissertation about a '67 Impala he's got up on blocks in the yard, and if Castiel didn't know any better, he'd swear that the mention of the car _aroused_ Dean. He rolls his eyes.

It's nearing two in the morning by the time Bobby and Castiel are yawning enough for their familiars to call an end to the celebrations.

"What are the sleeping arrangements?" Bobby asks.

"One of you can take my room," Dean says immediately, brooking no argument. "Or both of you, whatever. The couch is a pullout."

Sam side-eyes his brother but doesn't argue. Bobby says, "I'm old and human, so I'm taking the bed."

Sam nods, watching Castiel catch up to the conversation and turning an interesting shade of pink. "See you in the morning," he says.

"Good night all," Dean answers, grinning with false levity and yanking Castiel back towards his bedroom. Castiel stumbles through his good nights, and before he's quite sure what's happened, he and Dean are alone behind a soundproof door, in the warm, inviting bedroom, with _mood lighting_.

"Dude, calm down, it's just your end table lamp since you never replace the bulbs in the ceiling fixture," Dean deadpans.

"Stop reading my mind," Castiel mutters, moving towards his dresser in an effort to put some distance between him and Dean without it looking suspicious, but of _course_ it's suspicious because Dean keeps _reading his damn mind _. He dresses for bed as quickly as possible. He knows Dean's watching him because he can feel his reaction and it's really distracting. He turns around anyway, and Dean's stripped to his undershirt and boxers, and frankly, Castiel wants to kiss every inch of him. But he can't after the bombshell tonight.__

__"Sit down," Dean says exhaustedly. "We'll talk before you overheat your brain."_ _

__"I don't appreciate the devil-may-care attitude you have about his," Castiel says sourly. "This is a big deal. What we did was a _big deal_."_ _

__"Yeah, I know."_ _

__Castiel swings around angrily. "Do you really? Because it seems to me like you were willing to throw both of our lives away a few hours ago for a bit of light making out."_ _

__The surge of indignation through the bond only causes a feedback loop that drives them both higher than they would have been alone. "Why are you automatically assuming we're throwing both our lives away?" Dean demands. "Kissing isn't a lifelong commitment, anyway, but even if it was, why do you think I'm being careless or something? I've been telling you since the beginning that you're the strongest witch I've ever met."_ _

__"That's beside the point!" Castiel throws back. "Regardless of my powers, you lied to me! You told me that my feelings were okay!"_ _

__"That wasn't a lie!" Dean argues._ _

__"Yes, it damn well was! It's not okay if we go further and can't let go one day and both our souls get damned to Purgatory or the ether, or wherever! That is not okay!"_ _

__"It won't be that way!" Dean yells, snapping with such ferocity that Castiel jerks back a step._ _

__Dean's whole body tenses. He bites back the rest of his anger, face flushed, fists tight at his sides. They stare each other down for several seconds, unmoving. Castiel is scared of this. Not directly of Dean, of course. His familiar can't hurt him without hurting himself. But he _is_ scared of the depth of Dean's passion. In all things, including him. Dean lives with such vigor. Wholeheartedly. It's easy to see how such a person would more than willingly walk to the gallows for something they truly believed in. For someone they loved._ _

__His fears must show on his face, because Dean's expression crumbles a little. Suddenly, the bond is filled with something profoundly sorrowful; so much that Castiel sits heavily on the edge of the bed, Dean beside him a moment later. "You're like my dad," Dean says softly. "That's why I wasn't scared to kiss you. That's why I tried it."_ _

__Unconsciously, Castiel joins their hands. "It's so risky, Dean. Too risky for some fling."_ _

__There's another flare in the bond, and it feels like fire. Castiel isn't sure what to make of it, but Dean turns sideways, tucking one leg under him, and pressing his forehead against Castiel's temple. His warm breath makes Castiel shiver. "That ain't what this is, and you know it," he murmurs. His head slides down until it's tucked against Castiel's shoulder where he presses a series of soft, open-mouthed kisses until Castiel is feeling the same amount of exquisite desperation._ _

__"Dean, please don't," he begs softly, voice shaking. He wishes he could stop all of it, but it's way too late for that. They both sense it. And the most difficult part is that, despite his wishing, he _wants_ Dean to argue. Push it. _Keep going_. He shouldn't turn his head, but he does because the words coming out of his mouth are the direct opposite of the ones in his mind._ _

__Also, it feels exceptional when Dean's lips meet his. It's like his familiar is trying to hold back a flood; light kisses unstopping across Castiel's mouth, face, neck, and he's helpless to do anything except tilt his head back to let Dean have his way. It makes his whole body tingle and tremble, but he can handle it. "You'll have to let me go, Dean," he whisper fiercely, clinging to his shirt to keep him close; keep himself grounded. "One day you'll have to, for both our sake, you have to promise me that."_ _

__"Not today, Cas. Later, _later_ , okay? I swear." It doesn't get away from it until Dean can't fight it anymore and captures his lips again, diving deep, and _then_ it's unstoppable. It's every cheesy romance novel analogy in a bigger and better package. Castiel is drawing Dean closer with his hands around his shoulders and Dean is guiding him down to lay flat on his back. They're pressed together, can barely move because Dean refuses to prop himself up and miss any body contact, but it doesn't matter because the kissing soon becomes overwhelming. Dean has to break away, dropping his head to the side to rest against Castiel's neck, breathing him in. Castiel turns his face to Dean's shoulder, doing the same. They're both shaking now. All they're doing is holding one another, but the emotions shared in the bond keep it all heightened for a long time._ _

__Castiel can feel Dean's muscles twitching whenever he attempts to relax. It doesn't happen. There's nothing to break the tension. No willingness on either of their parts. They both squeeze each other tighter at the same time._ _

__There's a plaintive _meow_ and Castiel feels Dean's chuckle rumble through both their chests when Gabriel jumps on his back, walks back and forth, then settles at the base of his spine. "We're overfeeding you, Gabe," he mutters into the comforter._ _

__Castiel laughs roughly and slides out from under Dean so that he's not being crushed. But his familiar refuses to be parted completely. Without dislodging the cat, he wraps an arm over Castiel's chest, and then throws his leg over Castiel's knee for good measure._ _

__Dean sniffles and turns his head, blinking at Castiel from a scant few inches away. His voice is appropriately intimate when he asks, "what if you could come with me when you died? Would you do it?"_ _

__Castiel cups Dean's elbow, strokes up and down his arm. "You'd promise me eternity with you?"_ _

__"Yeah."_ _

__How can something so complicated be so simple? He can't understand it. He's too human to. "How can you be so sure?"_ _

__Dean's smile is indulgent, though slightly pitying. "Because I'm not like you."_ _

__"You're not any better at this than I am," Castiel scowls._ _

__"No, but I've had a lot of bonds with a lot of witches. And they've all been different, but this one is _different_ , y'know?"_ _

__"Of course not," Castiel says with a wry smile._ _

__Dean rolls his eyes. "Cas, our bond ain't the status quo. There's more to it."_ _

__Even as he reaches over to gently stroke Dean's cheek, Castiel says, "I should never have told you that I could fall in love with you months ago. That was wrong of me. It planted the seed."_ _

__Dean snorts. "Would it have happened anyway?"_ _

__There's no lying to him, so he says, "yes."_ _

__"Then I would have figured it out. Nothing would have stopped it." He scoots over as close as he can. "I told you back then that I didn't mind you falling in love with me, because I don't. I have faith in us. We can beat the odds. I'm sure of it."_ _

__"Dean." Castiel cants his head, the bridges of their noses sliding together. "I'm sorry. Please forgive me." He kisses Dean gently and then pulls back. Closes his eyes. Pictures what he needs to do in his mind's eye._ _

__"Don't do this," Dean whispers. He sounds more resigned than pleading. Castiel tells himself that's a good sign. "Please."_ _

__Slowly, Castiel builds up the wall between his heart and who it desires. It hurts. "I have to."_ _

__"No, you don't."_ _

__"I do love you, Dean, that's why."_ _

__Dean's grip on his hands is painful. "I love you, too, Cas, that's why."_ _

__The only thing that keeps the wall from crumbling right then and there is Castiel's terror of Dean permanently disappearing from all planes of existence. He'd spend forever in Purgatory just to make sure that didn't happen._ _

__When he's finished he can look at Dean without it hurting. He does so. His familiar is staring at him unblinking. "I still have faith," Dean says._ _

__Gently, Castiel sits them up and moves them under the covers, Gabriel perched on the shelf on top of the headboard. "That's okay," he murmurs once it's dark and they're curled together again. "Thank you for respecting my needs."_ _

__"I'm still with you, Cas. Always."_ _

__That night when he dreams, Castiel dreams alone._ _


	5. Chapter 05

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam, Dean, Bobby, and Castiel work some magic together. Dean and Castiel solidify their commitment to each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience and comments and support!

Dean wants more than anything to dreamwalk with Castiel like they normally do, but he can't sleep. Not with the silence in his head. The block that Castiel had set up had been so... _gentle._ He'd put it up with the utmost care and consideration to not make it jarring. Conscientious asshole. It's not the strongest block, either. Dean can feel it when he shuts his eyes. If he prodded at it hard enough, it would crumble like a sandcastle on the tide line. But he won't do that. He fucking _can't._ Respecting Castiel's needs is his most important job. He'll always do it. At least he can still feel his witch's love. He's not sure either of them could have blocked that part from either side. It's cleansing spring water in his empty mind.

He must drift off eventually because when he opens his eyes next, he's laying on his back in mottled sunlight in the grass out front of the small cabin he calls home when he's not on the mortal plane. 

"Hey," Sam says beside him.

"You bored of Bobby's dreams?" Dean asks.

Sam chuckles. "A little. He's been dreaming about his wife a lot these days, anyway. They deserve some private time. And you and I haven't been in close enough proximity to do this is ages. I like that you're dreaming of home."

"You miss it?"

"Every time."

"I never do," Dean confesses.

Sam glances around them. "Clearly you do, because you're dreaming about it now."

"I only come here when I can't go anywhere else and this is the easiest place to conjure in my mind."

Sam winces. "Cas kicked you out?"

Dean pushes to sitting slowly. "Yeah. And if you fucking say, 'it's for the best,' I'll punch you in the nuts. We might be dreaming, but it'll still hurt."

"Wasn't gonna," Sam says kindly. "I like Castiel. I didn't ever mean to suggest that I think your bond with him is _bad._ Because it's not."

Dean picks at the longer blades of grass, twisting them around into a knot. "You're not gonna lose me to this, Sam."

With a sharp intake of breath, Sam says thickly, "Dean, I-"

Dean punches his brother on the shoulder because he can't handle whatever the guy's about to say. "You're not."

They're quiet for a long time. There's no sound in Dean's dreams. Sam notices and makes a small _hmm._ "This isn't your haven, is it? It's more like a self-inflicted time out."

Dean snorts a laugh. "Yeah, you could call it that. I never got the hang of really sleeping alone like you did when I'm bonded. Only did it every now and then when my familiar wanted to."

"You always got closer to your witches than any of us."

Dean shrugs. "It works for me."

"It _worries_ me. And Mom. And Dad."

"I get it," he grouches. He truly does. Nearly eternal or not, Dean values life. Familiars aren't exactly immortal, and just because they usually have longevity, doesn't mean they don't fear death like humans do. Magic is dangerous. The human realm is dangerous. Sam and Dean themselves have had close calls and lost good friends. Hell, Dean had nearly kicked the bucket six months ago before he'd even had a chance to get to Castiel. 

He shares the worry Sam has for him. But he can't do anything about it. This thing with Castiel isn't the same as the last time he'd developed romantic feelings for his witch. Sam probably won't ever understand, but he will let up. 

And he does concede, his point made, and changes the subject. "Where do you go when you're not punishing yourself for something that isn't your fault?"

Dean shrugs. "Nowhere. Not in my own mind, anyway. I go to the bond with Cas. To tell you the truth, he's never once asked to be left alone when he's dreaming."

Sam's expression turns even more thoughtful. "But... humans don't like that, right? Being with someone twenty-four-seven. He doesn't need alone time?"

Dean shakes his head. "Sometimes he does, but he _doesn't_ , y'know? I mean, when he goes to work, it's far enough away that the bond is barely noticeable to him. But when we manifest it, it's a lake house he used to go to as a kid. The most privacy he asks for is when sometimes he's in the cabin and I'll be outside it, or whatever. He's never actually shown me the inside, and I've never asked. But one time I told him I could sleep in my own head if he wanted privacy, but it... sorta scared him. Said he didn't want that. Having me close by in his head was good."

"Huh," Sam says contemplatively. Then, suddenly focusing on his brother says firmly, "you were right and I was wrong."

Dean's eyebrows shoot up. "Shit, did you really just say that? Never thought I'd see the day."

"Shut up, I'm trying to be a good brother here." Sam grins all the same. "I was right when I said that your bond with Cas wasn't like Mom and Dad's. But it _is_ different than most others. Cas is a lot different."

Dean stares at his brother for a full minute before saying, "you still don't think I could do what Mom and Dad did."

Sam leans back on his hands, turning his face to the sun. "I honestly don't know. Obviously, we know it's _possible_. But Mom is _really_ strong and so is Dad. You and I... we're just..." he shrugs.

"Halflings," Dean finishes. He sighs. "I wish I'd talked to them more about it."

"I tried once," Sam admits.

Dean's eyes slide to his brother. "Seriously? When?"

"Maybe two or three witches ago? I can't remember exactly."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Sam grimaces. "Because they shot down my line of questioning pretty fast. Dad said they didn't want to corrupt me, whatever that means."

Dean snorts in disgust. "You know what it means. Our kind all thought it was weird and unnatural when Mom and Dad permanently bonded."

"Kinda is weird, though," Sam says sadly. "Everyone's gotten over it _now,_ but I still think Mom and Dad don't wanna talk about it, because then they'd have to relive all the awful crap they dealt with at first, you know?"

"People didn't understand it at the time," Dean agrees, grabbing Sam's arm and trying the grass bracelet he's woven around his wrist. "But now it's a huge deal. Everyone thinks our family is something fucking special. Which is another word for 'side show.'"

"Come on Dean," Sam admonishes with a constipated look. "It's not like that anymore."

"You're not around enough to notice," Dean disagrees, dropping his brother's wrist and starting to make another grass bracelet. "They're acting different, but thinking the same. They're trying, though."

Sam nods absently. "That's most important." He studies the weaving on his wrist and a grin springs to his face when he recognizes the particular pattern. "Why are you asking my permission?" He holds his hand up.

Dean barely glances at him. "'Cause Dad ain't here. You got until that dies to decide."

Sam shrugs, falling back into the plush grass. "I already decided, but I'll still carry on tradition until it wilts and not tell you until then."

Smiling softly, Dean uses a tiny amount of his magic reserves to imbue the second bracelet with life. It will live as long as it needs to. "It's a stupid tradition," he murmurs.

Sam watches his brother's nimble, confident fingers tie the braids and knots in the weaving. "It's sweet," he corrects. "But you hate being old-fashioned."

"Sometimes you gotta," Dean answers. He finishes it and studies it closely. "It's a compromise since I can't... yeah."

"Get to it, then," Sam laughs, staring up at the trees.

Dean disappears.

***

Castiel absolutely wants to wake up. Immediately. He hates this. He's lucid dreaming - inevitable, considering he's spent so much time in the bond - but it's back to his own head now. Unforgiving and not pleasing. Warped reality and no sound. Boring and lackluster without Dean. He hates it. _Hates_ it. He wants to _wake up._

"Not yet."

Castiel swings around, tears flooding his eyes, but he won't let them fall because this is all his fault. He did this, and he understands why he can't undo it, but that doesn't mean it doesn't suck. A lot. "I didn't think you'd come," he says roughly.

"Why not? I don't blame you," Dean says, blinking his glowing green eyes.

The breath Castiel takes sounds suspiciously full of tears. "I hate everything about my own dreams."

Dean holds out his hand. Castiel rushes to take it.

It's like a balm on a burn when their bond connects, flashing them instantly to the lake. It nearly brings Castiel to his knees, but doesn't because Dean gathers him in his arms, holding on tightly and rocking him back and forth. _Screw it,_ Castiel thinks. He cries into Dean's shoulder until he realizes that he's being entirely selfish, then pulls back. Dean kisses him anyway.

"I'm so sorry, Dean, I-"

Dean shakes his head and presses a finger against Castiel's lips gently. His finger drags down Castiel's neck, arm, to his left wrist. He picks up Castiel's hand and ties the woven bracelet around his wrist.

Castiel holds his wrist in front of his eyes and studies every single detail of the bracelet, spinning it around. He wants to ask. He doesn't understand. But he can feel how Dean feels when he'd tied it on. It's _huge,_ the feeling. It's a question and a promise. He's got no frame of reference for the sensation, but he knows it suddenly. "Are you sure about this?"

"You made me promise you," Dean says. "I said I'd let you go, but..."

"This is something else. We can have this," Castiel assures him. "I wish I was like you."

Dean shakes his head. "I'm glad you're not."

"Why?" He touches Dean's cheek, the pads of his fingers running lightly over the stubble.

"You wouldn't have wanted me."

Castiel outright laughs at that. He can't even imagine not wanting this. Not wanting Dean. Bond or not, he can't conceive of a single scenario or lifetime where he wasn't born for him. "That's impossible."

Dean sighs and leans forward, rests their foreheads together. "You're so human," he breathes. "That's the only way. If you'd been a familiar? You wouldn't have wanted a halfling. I'm so fucking glad you're human."

"I love you," Castiel says. "I will forever."

"Don't say forever. You made me promise not that."

"It doesn't matter where I go after I die; it won't change," Castiel answers. "That's why I had to-"

Dean knocks their foreheads together just shy of painfully before moving back to give Castiel a hard look. "We need that wall so I can keep my promise. It's necessary. I understand that. Stop apologizing."

"Fine. I'll give you what I've got then." He offers his wrist out. Dean strokes the bracelet.

"Same." Dean takes both of Castiel's hands and kisses him again. It's a chaste, tender thing. A "see you later." Less than an "I forgive you for everything," but more than a "let's not see each other this way anymore."

When Dean's touch departs, and Castiel opens his eyes, Dean is gone. He must have woken up. Castiel walks down the dock to the edge. He sits and dangles his feet over the side, calm. It's almost time for him to wake up, too. For the first time ever, he's so glad about it.

***

"Good morning!" Sam says cheerfully from his place at the kitchen counter where he's chopping fruit.

"Good morning," Castiel says, far quieter, far squintier.

Bobby nods and dips his head back over his coffee. Dean isn't present.

Castiel pours himself a cup of coffee and sits across from Bobby. It feels like they're waiting for something, though damned if he knows what. But he waits anyway. Sam gives them all a plate of mixed fruit and thick slices of buttered, toasted bread that Castiel and Dean had made a few days before.

The silence isn't exactly awkward, but it's still a relief when the front door to the condo opens and Dean shoves inside with three paper bags of groceries, cheeks rosy from the cold.

Castiel jumps up to help him. "Did you go out this early to the grocery store? Why in the world?"

Dean grins, relinquishing one of the heavy bags. "I got ahead of myself, but I was hoping..." his voice and confidence trail off as his eyes flick down. He already knew the answer, but it's still not total confirmation yet. His expression is unreadable, but a pulse flows through the bond when he catches sight of the grass bracelet peeking out from under Castiel's pajama sleeve. It actually manifested. That's a really good sign. He clears his throat. "There's supposed to be a feast."

"Mazel tov," Bobby mutters, raising his mug in cheers. "There better be booze."

Sam beams. "There is, don't worry. Congratulations, guys."

Both Dean and Castiel have mirror expressions of trepidation to give Sam. "You're okay with this for real?" Dean asks. "After yesterday?"

Sam shrugs. "This isn't the same thing."

"It could lead to the same thing," Bobby protests. "Thought I taught you not to split hairs, boy."

"I trust them to be smarter than that," Sam tells his witch pointedly. He raises his wrist and jiggles his own bracelet. "I'll give you my official answer when it's time, so Dean, you better put all the perishables in the freezer for the feast. Until then, congratulations on your almost-engagement."

Dean slips his hand in Castiel's, squeezing once before releasing it. Then he beams, "that's settled! Now feed me, little brother, I'm starving!" He's hiding behind his enthusiasm, and Castiel marvels at that. Like he would have said no.

Sam puts a plate down in front of him with a flourish. "Here."

Dean scowls. "Where's the fucking bacon?"

Castiel laughs, feeling lighter than air. "You eat it all as soon as I buy it!"

Bobby grumbles a short laugh. "Glad I'm not the only one thinking about sinning just for some meat when Sam cooks."

Dean laughs and Sam scowls. "You could have as much steak as you wanted if you'd cook it yourself," Sam says sourly, which only makes Dean laugh harder.

"It's a lovely breakfast, thank you, Sam," Castiel says pragmatically, but also trying to stay on Sam's seemingly-fragile good side.

"Kiss ass," Bobby says with a chuckle.

"You're welcome, Cas," Sam says, clearly ignoring the other comments. "The rest of you children quit bitching and eat your damn food. We've got work to do."

Dean grimaces overly-dramatic. "Why? It's a holiday."

"Not anymore," Sam interjects. "There's a lot of residue around the city. Don't be lazy or it'll build up to more than we can handle. The weather patterns coming in later next week are gonna stir things up, too."

"That's good enough for me to do something productive with my time off of work," Castiel says.

Dean leers. "Hey, I got something for you to 'do'-"

Castiel groans. "This must be a record for how quickly someone regrets an engagement."

Sam laughs. "You both deserve each other."

Bobby shakes with silent laughter as he stuffs his face, used to Sam's health kicks, and enjoying the banter. "You got a computer?" he asks Castiel. "Sam's pretty good at searching out hinky stuff that's probably magic needing tending to."

Castiel's eyebrows go up. "Really? That's interesting. Dean usually just drags me around on walks to find things. But I've got a laptop over by the couch." He gestures over his shoulder with his fork. Then he glances at his familiar. "Why don't we ever research the problems before hunting them? It seems much more productive."

"Eh, I take an organic approach," Dean shrugs. "Plus, you're an elemental. There's magic to be channeled pretty much everywhere. It's harder with someone like Bobby."

"True enough," Sam agrees, bringing the laptop to the kitchen table and booting it up with Castiel's permission. 

"This looks promising," Sam says after a minute. "Sink hole on the west side of town. No explanation for it. There were no gas lines under it and no water main."

Castiel sighs. "I hope they fix it fast. That'll kill my commute to work."

"You can walk there," Dean points out.

"It's too cold," Castiel scoffs. "Anyway, what do you think it is, Sam?"

"A big buildup of magic," Sam says. "Probably earth or water. Either's fine with you, right?"

"He can channel any of it," Dean confirms, collecting their plates and taking them to the sink to rinse. "We probably should have gone out that way sooner. But we've been concentrating on the north side for a while."

"This is fine," Sam assures them. "It'll be good for both of us. Cas, you can dissipate all the magic, and Bobby, you can seal it up. Perfect for a team-up."

"I look forward to it," Castiel says.

Bobby finishes his fifth cup of coffee and stands up to stretch. "Time to quit gabbing and get this show on the road, then," he says. "Bundle up and let's get a move-on. We'll take my car. I ain't squishing four grown men into a Prius."

Castiel smiles serenely. "Everyone's against me."

Chuckling, Dean pats his shoulder as he walks by. "That's because your car ain't sexy."

They're dressed in minutes, filling out the door to the parking garage. It's easy enough to spot Bobby's car. It's an old Shelby Cobra, red, in need of a paint job, but even Castiel can tell that it's one of those cars that ends up at shows for people to fawn over. Dean makes eight kinds of obscene noises at it, practically laying himself over the hood. "This car is the _shit_ ," he enthuses.

"We'll still have to stuff ourselves into it," Castiel points out, noting the smaller back seat. "My Prius probably has more space."

"Dude, who _cares_ ," Dean says. "This car is a work of art!" He swings around to Bobby. "Can I drive it?"

"Don't let him drive it," Sam says.

"Have you got a license?" Bobby asks. "Wait, what the fuck do I care. Knock yourself out, kid." He tosses the keys over the hood and Dean catches them with a whoop.

"Brace yourselves," Sam mutters as they all pile into the car.

"Driving is one of my few real talents," Dean argues, pulling out of the parking space and peeling out of the deck. Castiel grabs onto the armrest until he's sure that Dean's not about to kill them or drive like a maniac. He's over the speed limit through the city, but at least doesn't drive dangerously, probably only out of deference to the car, though. At least it doesn't take them long to get to the sinkhole.

Dean pulls off onto a side street a few blocks and into an empty parking lot.

The area has been cordoned off, but at least the crowds have dispersed having taken their pictures and video. Work crews aren't there yet, but it's still early.

When they approach the area and duck under the yellow tape, Castiel is surprised to notice that he can actually _feel_ the magic surrounding the area. It's pooled in the sinkhole and wafting up on the breeze. He can nearly taste the water in the back of his throat, the magic making the air humid, wet.

"Wow," Dean murmurs. "It's a lot."

"Yeah," Sam agrees.

Gingerly, they pick their way through the torn up blacktop to the grass where the hole had formed. Castiel carefully peeks over the edge. He can't even see the bottom, but the energy makes his eyes hurt. The sinkhole has to be at least ten feet across, deep, folded in on itself right at the edge of a large park where the grass meets the sidewalk. No buildings or homes are right there, so no property was damaged, but there's a row of townhouses across the street that could also be in danger, depending on how far the magical river is flowing underground.

"I've never seen anything like this before," Castiel says. "It's incredible." He blinks and can suddenly make out faint, glowing undulations in the darkness, like a phosphorescent current.

Sam looks into the void as well. "You can see it?"

"Only a little if I don't look directly at it," Castiel confirms.

"That's awesome," Sam says sincerely. "Most people can't. They can only feel it."

Bobby nudges a chunk of blacktop over the edge with his foot and none of them can hear it hit bottom. "You sure we can do this alone?" he asks. "Looks to me like it should be the work of at least two or three elementals."

"Normally, yeah," Sam says, "but I think Cas can handle it. You haven't done any big magic lately, have you?"

"No," he says thoughtfully. "Dean and I have only been doing a minimum since I'll need everything I've got for the storm coming." Castiel's never tested his limits, so he has no idea if he can or not. Dean has told him in general terms about being careful to not overload his system with magic, but they've never encountered anything that felt remotely close to doing it. Despite the risk, he is quite excited to test his skills. Dean's stressed the need to not "top off their tank" before the storm hits, but it's been making even Dean look a bit wan.

Sam and Bobby move towards the opposite side of the sinkhole. Sam says, "okay, let's do this as quickly as possible so we don't attract too much attention. Bobby and I will take care of sealing the hole once you've cleared the magic. You don't have to dissipate all of it, but get as much as you can so it doesn't just bust the ground open somewhere else later."

"Got it," Castiel answers.

Dean comes up to his left and takes his hand. "Don't be nervous. You got this," he says softly.

Castiel squeezes his hand reassuringly, takes a deep breath, and with Dean, throws their bond open wide, reaching his soul towards the magic while Dean's soul reaches for him. Seeing the overlay of their bond and combined power as it snakes towards the magic with blue and green tendrils of light never gets old. He can feel everything that Dean does, sense everything he experiences. Their heartbeats reach a syncopated rhythm as Castiel directs their light into the center of the magical pool, dragging his arms up to pull it out. It's sticky, like hardening molasses, and it doesn't want to be moved in pieces when he tries to break it apart to work a bit at a time. His arms shake with the strain like he's attempting to lift something way out of his weight class. "Dean," he huffs.

"We have to get it at once," Dean grits, also feeling the resistance. He moves behind Castiel, pressing against him firmly and then slotting his fingers through the spaces between his witch's. "You can do it," he encourages.

Together they continue to drag up the wellspring, though it becomes a physical resistance, pulling at the roped net of their manifested bond and forcing Castiel to literally dig his heels into the ground or be yanked into the sinkhole. Dean holds him tightly, holds him back. Sweat breaks out on Castiel's forearms. His whole body burns with the strain.

Then suddenly, the cork pops and the magic explodes into the air, rushing up the bond into their joined hands, suffusing their bodies with cold energy. The magic they can't absorb shatters into sand, and shimmers away into the air, now not threat since it will spread thinly far and wide on the wind instead of concentrating in a single area.

Never having channeled this much energy before, Castiel is overwhelmed. He grunts and slumps back against Dean, eyes slamming shut at the ice in his veins coursing through him and overstimulating his nerve endings. He can feel his limbs spasm like he's being shocked, and Dean's arms squeezing him even harder to keep him upright is almost too much. The whiskey-warm voice in his ear is comforting, though he can't make out the exact words. It's low, calm, and familiar, and that's all he can process for now. "Too much!" he gasps.

Dean's right hand crosses over his heart, splays out. After a few seconds, Castiel registers that Dean is trying to get him to breathe evenly. His lungs feel paralyzed. But Dean helps him. Always helps him. He takes exaggerated breaths against Castiel's back, a slow in and out that soon helps Castiel get back on track, spots clearing from his vision.

He blinks to see Sam and Bobby across the hole, standing side by side and drawing intricate symbols in tandem, Bobby's red grace creating an after image of the sigils with Sam's yellow, then disappearing. It's fascinating to watch seeing them so in sync.

The end of it is always anticlimactic for Castiel. Dean says he's watched too many fantasy movies so he'll always be let down in the face of real magic. Nothing's really _changed_. The air is far less humid, and a light snow is falling in the vicinity thanks to the solidifying water in the air, but it's spreading into a large enough area to not be a danger. The grass here will be much greener in the summer, and the weather reporters will have a head scratcher when they report the snow. Otherwise, it's back to normal.

"Good job," Dean says warmly, the praise rumbling against Castiel. He slowly pulls away making sure that his witch is steady on his feet.

Sam jogs around the sinkhole, Bobby following more sedately. "That was awesome, guys!" he enthuses. "Cas, you've seriously got power! I've never seen anyone channel that much all at once! You feeling okay?"

"I almost passed out, but I'm fine now, thank you," Castiel says. "Dean?"

"I'm good," he says, stretching like he's just post workout. "How 'bout you two?"

Bobby shrugs and stuffs his hands in his coat pockets, leading the way back to the car. "Another day at the office. What was up with that water, though? Even I could feel the energy coming off that mess."

"It was an eddy," Sam answers. "Kinda like an underground river. All that magic flowed into one spot and got caught. Swirls around like a tornado, and it's hard to break that up."

"It almost dragged me in," Castiel confirms. "Speaking of which... what would happen if I'd fallen in?"

Bobby snorts.

Sam laughs, though not as his expense. "You'd probably die."

"Too much magic?"

"Too far a fall," Sam says.

Dean opens the passenger door for Castiel and then slides into the driver's side again. "Magic wells like that won't really kill you. By itself, magic is harmless."

"That's right," Sam says, leaning between the seat between them. "It's the aftereffects that are harmful. There _are_ some kinds of manifested magic that can be dangerous, but it's really only a problem when it builds up too much and causes disasters and stuff."

"Good to know," Castiel muses.

They're back to the condo in no time, but Sam and Bobby drop Dean and Castiel off at the entrance to the building. Bobby wants to do some research at the library like an old man and then scope out some other possible sites for him to work his own magic since he's running low.

Dean is perfectly pleased about that when he gets inside and shucks his outerwear. Castiel barely has his wet shoes off before he's in Dean's arms being kissed within an inch of his life. The raw passion of it overwhelms the bond, despite Castiel's wall. As a human, he's helpless to it. Terrified of it. 

"Let me," Dean begs between frantic kisses. "Don't be scared. Just let me have a little."

He has no words, so Castiel simply nods, bonking their foreheads together, but still kissing. Still touching. Aching for it as much as Dean does. The flood threatens to drag him under; into the bond, but Dean grounds him with a sharp, "not this time. Stay here."

It's so hard to do that. The bond is so pure. It's _them_. Out here in the conscious world, there's too much else. There are sensations that neither of them have generated.

It's too muddy. He hates it. Castiel pulls back enough to take Dean's face in his hands, but still close enough that they can't even see each other clearly. "Come on," he murmurs, walking backwards to the bedroom; never letting go. Dean follows step for step perfectly, eyes focused only on Castiel. Together they lay down on the bed on their sides and Castiel draws Dean to them so that their entire bodies are touching. "Follow me," he says, and closes his eyes.

"Is this...?"

Castiel opens his eyes. Smiles. "Yes."

Dean lets go and turns in a slow circle. "Never thought you'd want me here."

"I do, though. All the time."

The inside of the cabin is beautiful. Small, but cozy, decorated in the burnt colors of fall. Greens, reds, and browns. And rather than an oppressive silence, the place is just _still_. "You don't have to show me everything," Dean says. "Bonded, engaged, it doesn't matter. You can have parts to yourself. I don't mind."

Castiel sinks down onto the large, evergreen-colored sofa. "That's the thing. I come here to think privately, but all the parts of me that I don't share..." he shrugs helplessly. "They feel so empty."

Carefully, Dean comes over and sits beside him, a scant few inches of comfortable space between them. "But it's how it was before."

"I know." He nods. "I come to myself because it's taken me time to think about our relationship and what we are to each other. For humans... the bond we have obviously isn't natural. Most people would say that it's entirely unhealthy to be too deeply connected to anyone. Interdependence isn't something that's praised."

"I don't really understand that being who I am, but I can respect that," Dean says. "My kind can't exist here for long without being connected to someone, but I've never seen it as a bad thing."

"It's taken me some time," Castiel admits, folding his hands in his lap and studying his fingers. "It's true that humans can become too attached to the people they love until they lose themselves completely and can't even function on their own. They lose their independence and can't do anything or _be_ anything if the other person leaves. They don't know who they are, so they can't reclaim that if they're alone one day."

"Do you think that's us?" Dean asks slowly.

Castiel shakes his head. "I worried about it, but what you and I have is symbiosis. Neither of us is incomplete without the other. We literally can't survive without each other, but you know who you are and I know who I am. That hasn't changed since we met. It took me a long time to really understand that symbiosis isn't co-dependence. I can function just fine if you're not in my head all the time, but I like you there. I like what you add to me. Just because I'm complete by myself, doesn't mean I can't enjoy having more."

Dean smiles. "I agree. You've thought long and hard about all of this. More than any human I've met."

Castiel laughs at himself. "I had to. Otherwise falling in love with you would have been stupid of me. Accepting your proposal would have been wrong."

Dean reaches out and takes his hand, thumb brushing over his knuckles. "Thank you," he says expansively.

"Thank _you,_ " Castiel returns, "for adding instead of consuming."

"I don't want you to change," Dean answers. "That stubborn asshole I met in the hospital; that kind man who gave me his credit card to fill his condo with plants; that trusting man who lets me teach him everything; that's the man I love. I don't wanna shape you into my ideal or whatever. With the bond we have, I'm sure I could. There are lots of ways I could manipulate you and what we have. But you deserve better than that. We don't get to choose each other, so trust is the way to go."

Castiel beams at him and scoots over to close the distance between them. "That's why I brought you here. I know you won't come in without knocking."

Dean laughs. "Yeah."

Castiel relaxes against him. "So, we're really doing this?"

"Yeah," Dean repeats. "We are.


	6. Chapter 06

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel and Dean explore each other.
> 
> **This chapter is NSFW! Graphic sexual content!**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please forgive any errors. I didn't have time to edit this much at all. Thanks for sticking around during my atrocious writing schedule! I love you all and hope you're still there! XD

Dean stands and wanders around the rest of the cabin, checking the rooms, impressed with how detailed Castiel has made it in his mind. Naturally, his witch never does anything by halves. All three doors in the space actually lead to another detailed room that isn't blurry or just blank space. If he hadn't spent so much of his life exploring other planes besides the conscious one, he'd think he was actually in the waking world, despite there being no ambient noise beyond the ticking of a clock, and the hum of what's probably a refrigerator. Castiel had probably conjured the sounds unconsciously; only barely remembered from his childhood. He pauses in the master bedroom, smiling at how it's just slightly different than the rest of the home. It's darker, for one. Outside the window is a view of the lake at constant twilight, bathing the room in pink and gold. The resolution is sharper, too. Almost too high definition for the real world. _So, this is Castiel's treasured spot_ , Dean muses. The place he's most comfortable by himself. The most safe.

"What do you think?" Castiel asks hesitantly from the doorway. "Did I do everything properly? It was weird creating this space all by myself."

"I love it," Dean answers, turning to face him. He means it. He couldn't have done better himself. Castiel constantly surprises and impresses him. Fuck, he's one lucky sonofabitch to have a witch like him. "You were really amazing today," Dean says admiringly, stepping easily into Castiel's personal space. "I've never seen anything like that."

"You don't need to flatter me," Castiel answers with a smile, though he can sense the truth behind Dean's praise.

"I'm not," he confirms. "You're just that good, and I really want to make out with you right now."

Castiel laughs wholeheartedly. "So _that's_ what all the praise is about? You're horny?"

Dean steps even closer until just their hips are touching. It takes everything in him for Castiel to stifle his moan, no thanks to Dean's arousal coming clearly through the bond. "Aren't you?" he asks, voice pitched low.

"No," Castiel answers. He has no idea why he's being belligerent, except that it's turning Dean on even more.

Smile turning predatory, Dean thrusts his hips forward, and Castiel almost goes down to his knees, it feels so good. "Fucking liar," Dean murmurs warmly. He palms over Castiel's hips to the dip of his ass, down to his thighs. "It's cute how you think I can't tell _exactly_ what you want."

"It's a human thing," Castiel murmurs, eyes half-lidded as he licks his lips and rolls his hips slowly against Dean's, reveling in the friction. "Have to keep up pretenses." His voice grows rougher as both their pleasure amplifies over the bond. "If I didn't put up a token protest, it'd be too easy, right?"

"Guess so." Dean dips forward to mouth at the bolt of Castiel's jaw, down the side of his neck, to his shoulder. "I'm too easy."

Castiel chuckles breathlessly, hands roaming over Dean's lower back, rucking up his shirt to explore the dips and planes. "You're so warm."

Dean's mouth works its way back up over Castiel's Adam's apple, over his chin, pecking his lips several times briefly, leaving both of them tingling. "You are, too." He pulls back just enough to meet the human's eyes. "Are you okay with this? I mean, with what I want to do?"

"Yes," Castiel says immediately. "Very much, yes."

Dean kisses him again and again. "You cool messing around here, or wanna wake up?"

"Let's stay here," Castiel answers, fingers brushing over Dean's face, feeling his stubble, the lines on his forehead, the soft curve of his lips. It's so much more intimate here. And besides that, he feels like he owes Dean something more private; special. Dean would say it's not necessary, but it's important to Castiel. There isn't much that he's able to show Dean beyond the ordinary, but Dean had gone so far as to want him beyond witch and familiar, which is already incredibly profound. Castiel needs to do more than just wear the grass bracelet he made. He needs to show Dean that he's accepted in every corner of his mind and his heart. There might still be a wall up for pure necessity, but that doesn't minimize his devotion. Nothing can do that.

Dean's eyes search his openly with an adoring expression. "Cas, I just..." his voice trails off in wonder.

"I know," Castiel smiles. "Me, too."

They come together again kissing, slowly stroking each other's skin, pushing away clothes, stripping unhurried until they're completely bared to each other. It's a perk of being in the bond because they can whisk away clothes with a thought. Castiel struggles to unbutton his shirt, so he blinks instead and it's gone. Dean's hands are shaking enough that he can barely get the fly of his jeans open, so he makes a small gesture and they're no longer an issue.

Complete nakedness doesn't seem to phase Dean in the slightest, though he pauses after tugging his shirt over his head, blinking owlishly at Castiel, who suddenly wants to cover himself under the open scrutiny. He forces himself to remain still, face heating, fists clenching spasmodically at his sides.

"You're so beautiful," Dean breathes. "All the time, Castiel, you're so... _beautiful_."

A small smile ticks up his lips. "Thank you," he says softly. He takes in Dean in smaller doses, rather than his familiar's open and full adoration. His eyes flick from Dean's feet to the bedframe, back up to his strong thighs, over to the dresser's hardware, back to Dean's abs - skirting his dick because he's _really_ not mentally prepared for that yet - over to the curtains, which he idly recalls aren't quite the right color of sky blue, finally up Dean's chest to his familiar face. His shining green eyes, tender. Adoring. "I love you so much," he says unbidden, throat feeling tight.

Dean closes the space between them with a single step. His hands cover Castiel's, then slip up his arms lightly to his shoulders, over his neck, up to gently cup his jaw and draw him forward for a kiss that starts off achingly chaste.

Then Castiel tilts his head with a sigh to part his lips and invite Dean in for more. Which his familiar is more than happy to oblige. There's still no rush at all. Dean's tongue slips into Castiel's mouth, still gentle and slow, but deeper at least. He wants to push for more, but gets the distinct impression that Dean is taking his time and will continue to do so no matter what Castiel tries to push for. Not like he's in any way wanting to try.

A thought that's confirmed when Dean leans back after a minute and says with a smile, "we've got all the time in the world."

"No, we don't," Castiel chuckles.

"You'd be surprised how long it can feel when you're asleep."

"I'll take it," Castiel hums against Dean's mouth, taking another kiss. Another after that. "I'll take any of it. Nothing would make me happier than making love to you until we wake up. After, too. All the time. Dean, I could do it with you all day and night."

With a delighted laugh, Dean shifts forward, walking them towards the bed. "I'm on board."

Looping his arms around the back of Dean's neck, Castiel takes his time running his fingers through his familiar's hair, learning the shape of his neck and shoulders. "Is it the same as... um... I..." his face scrunches. "What am I trying to say? Like... is it the same?"

Dean gives him a purse-lipped quizzical look. "Is what the same?"

"The sex. Between a human and a familiar."

Dean chuckles. "Oh, that. Yeah, sure, it's the same. No worries. I'm not an alien. Just from a different plane of existence."

"Because _that's_ not weird at all," Castiel mutters.

Dean guides them down to the bed, bracing over top of Castiel, arms locked straight, laying the human out on the soft comforter. His gaze rakes over Castiel, Castiel doing the same. "Don't worry," he murmurs. "I'll take good care of you."

"You always have," Castiel answers, reaching up. Dean falls into his arms willingly, kissing him within an inch of his life, bodies meeting again. It's a slow back and forth that goes on for an indeterminate amount of time until Dean moans, sliding his forehead down Castiel's neck, peppering him with short, more frantic kisses and nips. His speed slows again when he reaches the witch's nipples, seemingly determined to make Castiel come just from that. It's pretty effective. Each swirl of his tongue, pinch of the sensitive peak, shoots heat lightning through his body, making him gasp and moan, dick twitching almost painfully between them. That only makes Dean work him over with twice as much focus. Not a single patch of skin remains untouched by the time the familiar has slipped down the bed, nudging Castiel's dick with his cheek when he presses wet kiss after small bite to Castiel's sensitive inner thighs.

Castiel's hands fist in the sheets at his side, white knuckling through his desire to not come _right the hell now_. The surge of pure, unadulterated desire pulses through the bond and they both moan in tandem as Castiel's longing feeds into Dean's and rushes back to him like stormy waves in the ocean.

They're both panting, and Dean growls, "didn't know it would be this intense. Dunno how long I can hold out here."

"Me, either," Castiel answers, dizzy with lust. "Almost like my first time in high school." He chuckles breathlessly.

Dean turns his head and flicks his tongue out to lap at the line of precome sliding down Castiel's shaft. "Doesn't matter," he murmurs, kissing down to the base, then back up to the head. He suckles at it, barely a hint of suction, only wet heat for a minute until he slips the tip of his tongue into the slit. Castiel's whole body twitches.

"I don't want to come yet," he begs. "Not yet, not _yet_." He lets go of the sheets, instead grabbing so hard at Dean's hair it stings. But he can't bring himself to drag him off. It feels too damn good.

Dean releases him, and Castiel isn't sure whether he's grateful about that or heartbroken. His swollen lips curve into a debauched grin. "You can come as many times as you want here. We're sleeping."

As if he weren't overwhelmed enough. That about does it. His teeth grind audibly with the effort to hold back. "Please."

With a wink, Dean closes his lips around Castiel's dick again, this time with hard suction. The witch's first orgasm takes him completely by surprise. It whips through him and he's spilling into Dean's mouth without so much of a warning.

Dean swallows what he can enthusiastically, a small amount dripping down his chin. "My turn?" he smiles.

"Yes, now," Castiel breathes, finally feeling the belated pleasure of his orgasm, wanting nothing more than to inundate himself with more until he can't feel anything else. But he can't seem to get his limbs working properly. Dean understands because he takes the initiative. He crawls up the bed, angling himself on his knees, helping Castiel sit up. "I haven't done this in a while," he murmurs.

"You okay with it?" Dean asks, brushing his fingers through Castiel's hair. 

"Absolutely." He leans forward, kissing the tip of Dean's cock, loving the fact that he can feel a vague echo of it deep in his chest. Dean's pleasure is _his_ pleasure, too. Instead of the slow and easy approach as Dean had taken with him, Castiel decides to douse some of the familiar's growing impatience.

He may not have much recent experience here, but he'd prided himself on a lack of gag reflex which he'd discovered with his sexuality. He sucks in a deep breath through his nose, relaxes his jaw, and lets Dean fill his mouth incrementally, pausing frequently when the need to swallow rises too quickly. For his part, Dean holds as still as possible, only his chest rising and falling rapidly. Staring wide-eyed, lips parted in a small "O" of amazement. 

Spots dance in Castiel's vision when he bottoms out. Dean's thick length in his mouth is heavenly. Hard/soft and salty. He breathes as best as he can through his nose, almost a sigh of contentment. He palms Dean's ass softly, rubbing, kneading, begging. 

Dean starts to move. "Fuck," he whispers. As overwrought as Castiel can tell Dean feels, the man still keeps it unhurried. He pulls out long and even, groaning at the suction, and thrusting back in with smooth motion. Castiel can't imagine hurrying him.

The fire burning grows tiny bit by tiny bit with a speed increase that Castiel almost doesn't notice until Dean's grip on his shoulders tightens, digging his blunt nails in. "Don't stop," he gasps. "Can I...? Cas, can I?"

In answer, Castiel squeezes Dean's ass, yanking him forward, cock brushing against the back of his throat. He swallows hard, nearly blacking out from oxygen deprivation, but it's exquisite the way that Dean cries out, trembling, coming with a pulse.

Dean pulls out immediately and collapses heavily against Castiel's chest, toppling them backwards. Castiel runs his hands over Dean's shoulders and back, soothing him through the aftershocks.

Once settled, Castiel huffs a small laugh. "I'm not even sleepy after that. Doing this in the bond really _is_ better."

Dean gathers his witch in his arms, turning them on their sides to a more comfortable position. "Right? But if that's your measure of better, I can probably blow your mind with other stuff."

Grinning Castiel says coyly, "oh? Like what?"

Dean slips his knee between Castiel's legs, rolling his hips forward. "No refractory time, or the need for prep?"

Castiel kisses him lazily, content and still thrumming with muted desire under his skin. "The first one is great, but I like the prep. The lack thereof is not a bonus."

Dean moans softly, nuzzling into Castiel's chest. "I'll do anything you want, for real. Which way do you prefer?"

"Either," Castiel murmurs, dragging his fingernails gently down Dean's back, raising goosebumps in his wake, over the curve of his ass, slipping into his cleft. "But I can feel how much you want me inside you first."

Dean is perfectly happy to hold nothing back for the sake of playing hard to get, so he traps Castiel in a searing kiss, deep enough that they're both hard again in no time. "Guess I'm not opposed to that," he drawls when they pull apart again.

"Good," Castiel says with an uncharacteristically sly smirk. "Because I'm just as good with my hands as my mouth. I can work wonders with some time and a bit of lube."

Dean winks. "We can do that." He claps his hands twice theatrically. Nothing happens for a second, but then Castiel's lap is full of plastic bottles.

Castiel blinks down at the plethora of lube. Kinds he didn't even know existed. He bursts out laughing. "Dean."

He shrugs, chuckling. "I mean, I didn't know what kind you'd want."

Castiel shoves them all off, picking up the first normal, unscented lube he can identify. "That was unnecessary."

Dean snaps his fingers and the rest are gone. "I got excited."

"No kidding. Can you conjure a condom without filling the entire room?"

Dean scoffs, scooting into Castiel's now-empty lap. "Do I have to? We're _asleep_. And I don't have any diseases, anyway." He reaches between them, taking Castiel in hand, punctuating every pump of his fist with, "I want to feel every... last... long... inch... of you."

Castiel's head falls back, rumbling a moan deeply in his chest, thrusting his hips up. "That's fine," he says, strangled. "Hands and knees."

Dean is slow to comply, having way too much fun pulling filthy sounds from his witch. He seems disinclined to do anything else, but Castiel puts his lube-soaked fingers between Dean's legs, stroking down under his balls to his perineum, circling his hole.

Dean curses in a language that could be made up for all Castiel knows, and rolls around onto his hands and knees, perfect ass on display.

Castiel takes a steadying breath before following him up, leaning over his familiar, letting his anticipation settle in his bones. He loves it. Wasn't even aware that he could make someone else feel this way. _I'm blessed,_ he thinks.

"Me, too," Dean sighs.

Smiling, Castiel presses a kiss each to the dimples at the base of Dean's spine; something he's wanted to do every time he sees them. Tongues at the divots between each vertebra. Slips a single finger past the tight ring of muscle fluttering in expectancy. A heat begins to pool in his belly. He's not sure if it's his or Dean's as he draws his finger in and out carefully, deeper every time. "Keep breathing," he advises.

Dean's breath whooshes out of his lungs, the clench relaxing with the rest of his body. "Feels good," he mutters.

"I'll make it better," Castiel promises. He massages inside systematically searching. They both cry out at the shared jolt of electricity when he finds Dean's prostate. So, he was only _slightly_ wrong. They'll _both_ make it better. It's all he can do to keep his head enough to not hurt either of them.

But they're asleep. And Dean's practiced in the art of subtle changes to the dream world. He's plenty loose around Castiel's fingers quickly, but doesn't so much as ask to move things along.

However, Castiel's been waiting _forever_ for this chance. His own impatience gets the best of him. "Are you ready?"

Dean pushes up to flop onto his back. "Yeah. So ready."

Castiel takes in his flushed face, shaking hands, trusting expression. "Dean," he murmurs reverently.

Dean smiles up at him and opens his arm invitingly. Castiel falls against him, kissing him, stroking him, happily accepting the overflow of emotions from the bond. He could go on like this for hours, but Dean brings them back to their task, raising his legs, hooking his ankles around Castiel's lower back. 

It's plenty of prompting. 

Castiel takes the base of his cock in his hand, presses against Dean's entrance, slowly pushing forward until there's a give and he breaches. He stops then, shaking with restraint but he can feel the small shot of pain Dean gasps through. It takes some time to settle and Castiel is on the razor's edge. 

Dean knows it. He urges Castiel forward with his thighs clenching around the human's waist. Slowly, slowly. He's so strong. So patient. So incredible. It's hot and tight and glorious. And Castiel senses something shift somewhere inside of them both the second he's seated fully inside Dean.

All in a second, Castiel senses Dean's mental wall crumble to nothing. There's an unimpeded flood of emotion between them, pulsing hot and bright. He doesn't even know he's moving at all until the storm of white noise in his head resolves to Dean's greedy grunts, jacking his hips up every time Castiel shoves forward. It's not a quick pace, but it is brutal. And when Castiel shifts his angle minutely to rid himself of a muscle cramp, Dean shouts, spinning his ecstasy high and blinding through their unfettered bond. 

"Yes!" They cry together. 

It's only a few more wells thrusts, Castiel hitting dean's prostate on each one, and they both come almost at the same time; Castiel first, the pressure of his release inside Dean combined with the burning feeling of completion, sending him over the edge too. 

There's a flash behind his closed eyelids and suddenly Castiel shoots up in bed.

In his condo.

"Oh, my God," he murmurs, hard as a rock still. He rubs at the gummy tear tracks on his face.

Dean's eyes flutter open a second later. "We fucked each other awake," he mumbles, dazed.

Castiel tackles him, kissing all over his face, lips, chin, shoulders. Oh, but this is wonderful, too. He can smell Dean's clean skin like after a storm. Taste the salt of sweat properly. 

Dean ruts against him, also still hard, the pressure between them just enough to keep the tension without snapping it. Their hands roam together over each other's bodies, a little frantic and frustrated about having to remove their clothes for real, but it's still spectacular; different than in their bond, but still perfect. 

Lightning flashes outside when Dean nibbles at Castiel's earlobe. Thunder rumbles when Castiel scrapes his teeth over the sensitive flesh on the curve of Dean's neck. The storm of their making rattles the windows as they bite, stroke, tug each other, hands fumbling and shaking, knuckles bumping as they desperately try to match the other's pace. And when it happens, the sky opens up, gusting wind and snow far and wide.

Castiel comes again, sobbing his praise against Dean's lips. Dean bites down on Castiel's full bottom lip, almost enough to break the skin, but not quite, spilling between them, rocking with his witch slowly like lapping water until neither of them can see straight.

There aren't any words between them, even through the bond. Just small sounds of love and contentment. Castiel eventually gropes blindly for the box of tissues on the end table to clean them with. Dean makes it difficult by refusing to put any space between them. They get it done, though.

They breathe in harmony as the minutes tick by, reality weighing down on the afterglow pound by pound.

"I'm cold," Castiel says.

Dean takes the hint to kick at the covers until they're both underneath, wrapped in a cocoon of body heat and down feathers.

The darkness is nice.

"I've never done that before," Dean rumbles into the silence.

Castiel props his chin on Dean's chest. "Never had sex? You said you had."

"No," Dean rolls his eyes. "Had sex like _that_. With a human, I mean. Familiars can't bond with each other, y'know? So I've never been able to do anything like that. It was... wow."

"I agree," Castiel grins. "I haven't, either. Obviously. But I liked it."

"Me, too," Dean chuckles tiredly. "Three times? Good record."

Castiel laughs with him. "Now I feel like I could sleep for a whole day."

"You're on vacation," Dean teases.

"Mmh," Castiel hums non-committal, curling down against Dean's side again, draping his leg over his waist. "We can't, and you know it. Sam seems like the type to harass us out of bed, for one, and two, that winter storm will be here close enough to go after in just a few days, so we have to prepare. We can't let it reach populated areas."

"You sure know how to kill the mood," Dean grumbles, though he doesn't disagree. Far from it. Castiel may have been reticent in the beginning, but he's devoted to the cause now. Besides, they burned plenty of their magical reserves in the bond to have sex. Win-win, really.

Castiel kisses the center of Dean's chest. "We still have the whole night to do nothing."

"Sounds good."

"Dean, I love you," Castiel says softly.

"I love you, too," Dean answers like it's the easiest thing he's ever said. Like it's nothing. The bond pulses with adoration.

***

The day before the storm, Sam has beaten them all up and prepared such a spread of food, that simply calling it "breakfast" would insult the effort.

Castiel steps into the kitchen, goggling at all of it, not noticing that Dean has stopped in the doorway until the bond brings him a shot of intense emotion. He glances over his shoulder. Dean's staring at his brother, jaw tight.

"Sam," Dean says roughly.

Sam holds up his wrist. The grass bracelet has fallen off. "It's time, if you're ready," he says lightly in a heavier tone.

Realization dawns. Castiel tries to hold back his own reaction so as not to put too much through the bond, but he can't stop it. Dean coughs to cover it. "Yeah," he says. "Cas?"

"I am," he says firmly.

He's not totally, but recognizes that it's only because he's beholden to the human standards of propriety. It _seems_ like he should wait longer to give the rest of his heart to Dean forever after so little time together, but he knows he would anyway. It won't change an hour from now or a year from now. They don't need to wait.

Dean tugs off his shirt and Castiel sends him a questioning look.

"Uh," Sam explains, "most of the time familiars marry naked, but you only need to take off your shirt if you want."

He won't question tradition, so Castiel removes his shirt, but leaves his pajama pants on. It's too cold otherwise. Dean follows his lead. Sam and Bobby remain dressed. Sam guides them to the fireplace. "Would you light it?" he asks.

Castiel nods, turns to the fireplace and holds out a hand in front of the logs. Dean's hand slides flat up his back to rest between his shoulder blades. The smaller pieces catch quickly with a small _whump_. He's getting much better at this stuff. They turn to face Sam and Bobby who are side by side.

"You're really sure?" Sam double checks. "No pressure if you want to wait."

"I don't want to wait," Castiel says. Dean squeezes his bicep before releasing him.

Bobby almost smiles. "Let's get this show on the road then. Sam?"

"I bless this marriage," Sam says. "I bless the union of my brother, Dean Winchester with the human, Castiel Novak. I approve of their love, and promise to guide them both as family."

Bobby raises his hand, quickly drawing a sigil that glows and holds. "With your permission, I bind you both for life."

"Granted. Happily," Dean smiles.

"Granted," Castiel echoes.

Bobby brushes the sigil with the back of his hand and it wafts towards them, shimmering away when it meets their bodies. It's warm. Beautiful.

Sam beams. "You're bound beyond witch and familiar. You are now two souls joined in marriage." He holds up his hand with his grass bracelet, now browned. Dean removes his own and places it on top of Sam's. Sam moves his hand in front of Castiel, who takes the hint and also puts his in Sam's hand.

Sam puts his other palm above the bracelets and says a short incantation in his native tongue. The bracelets flash and between one blink and the next, are reduced to ash. Sam dips a finger into the ash and begins to draw with it on Dean's chest, swirling lines and symbols.

"Repeat after me for the human part," Bobby says sounding much less gruff than normal. "I, Dean, take Castiel to be my lawfully wedded husband."

Dutifully, Dean repeats the words.

"In sickness and in health, for richer or poorer, to death do us part."

Castiel says his vows as Sam draws the same careful symbols on his chest.

Once finished, Sam steps back, wipes his hands off. Bobby comes up to them and offers out two gold rings, filigreed and carved with the same symbols on their bodies. "These here rings are a symbol of your union. Put them on, and you'll be married by the powers vested in me."

Blinking back tears, Dean picks up the ring and slides it on Castiel's finger. Castiel does the same.

"Now kiss," Bobby orders.

With a wet laugh, Dean leans forward to put a chaste kiss on his husband's lips. Then he draws back and places his palm in the center of the sigil on Castiel's chest. "You, too," he whispers.

Castiel gently does the same.

The sigil flashes like the last, bright green on Castiel, lovely blue on Dean, then it's gone, though Castiel can feel a weight somewhere inside him. It doesn't hurt, but it's strange. "Did that...?"

"Carved on our ribs," Dean confirms.

"Congratulations," Sam says warmly.

"Congrats," Bobby says not totally grumpy.

"Thank you," Castiel says, gazing at his ring in wonder. Tears well up, and that's it, he's crying into Dean's shoulder.

Sam laughs kindly. "We'll leave you to it for a minute. Come and join us for food when you're ready."

Dean lets Castiel cry against him, gently rocking them back and forth. "We're married," he says.

"I know," Castiel sniffles. "I'm happy."

"I can tell. I'll never leave you, Cas."

"Good," Castiel says severely, rubbing his eyes on Dean's shoulder.

They kiss again, tender and still chaste. Dean ruins the moment when his stomach rumbles. Castiel laughs thickly. "Let's go eat. There was more food than we can eat in a lifetime."

"Watch me," Dean disagrees.

"There was so little to the ceremony," Castiel observes, threading his fingers through Dean's on their way back to the kitchen. "Human weddings often have a lot of to-do about them."

Dean shrugs. "We could do a whole thing later if you wanted. But the ceremony isn't really the point. It's like an announcement. It's the party afterwards can go on. That's why the vows are done first thing in the morning."

"I don't need anything else," Castiel assures him. "I'll remember it forever. I'm also unfair whether I can party all day and night."

Dean takes his seat next to Castiel, filing a plate with a bit of everything. There are fruits and grilled meats, also waffles and some sort of jellied candies. It's incredibly rich, but pleasing. They'll definitely be skipping lunch. Maybe dinner, too.

Despite the threat of a party until the next sunrise, they spend the day calmly, eating, drinking, watching movies, and talking carelessly. It's good enough that there's no shop talk for the whole day. 

Castiel's never felt so content in his life as the wonderful day comes to an end and he's back in bed with Dean, spooning him from behind, studying their twin rings glinting in the muted light from outside. Throughout the day, he'd thought he'd been imagining it, but with only each other, Castiel can feel the bond much more acutely. He can't ignore it or "turn it off," even if he wanted to. Which he doesn't. Their connection is even more... _connected_ now. It's so comforting.

"Cas," Dean murmurs. "I can feel you thinking."

"It's good thinking," Castiel says. "Just that the rest of my life with you is going to be amazing."

Dean pushes back against him more firmly. "I agree. I'm yours. Forever."

Castiel's pleased grin curves into the back of Dean's neck. "Same."


	7. Chapter 07

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The zero hour looms.
> 
> **This chapter is NSFW! Graphic sexual content ahead!**

"How goes the hunt?" Dean asks, flopping down into the chair at the table opposite his brother.

"You're right," Sam says. "No sign of witches anywhere in the vicinity. Maybe not even in the city."

Dean kicks his feet up, nursing a beer. "Do you find that as weird as I do? This city ain't small. I thought there'd be at least one other pair."

Sam tips his head from side to side. "Only a little. There are some places where witches seem to flourish. Families that stay in the same area with the same biology and magical predisposition, especially for several generations. And they don't tend to like cities much. Too removed from nature. Cas isn't from here originally, is he?"

"Nah," Dean confirms. "And any family he knows of isn't alive anymore. Cas says almost no one is _actually_ from here. People just move here or end up here."

Sam closes the laptop lid. "I'll never understand that about humans. How even loving families are so willing to split up. Just for jobs or some temporary pleasure. How do they thrive living alone so much? I've had some witches in cities of millions who were still lonely despite so many people around. And that seems to happen to normal humans, too."

"There's some shit we're not built to understand, 'cause it's not our nature. Humans got plenty to keep them connected. We might have spread out more like them if we had the technology."

"I don't want that," Sam says sourly. "I hate it. It's always a relief to come home and be able to _feel_ my family, y'know? It's not the same over Skype, or not communicating at all when we're on two different planes."

Dean gives his brother an assessing look. "What are you fishing for, Sammy?"

Taking the opening right away before it closes, Sam asks, "how much more often do you think I'm on this place compared to you? What percent? Fifty? More?"

"There abouts, sure."

Sam gestures to Dean's hand holding his beer, the ring new and shining unblemished on his finger. "How have you adapted so quickly? Dean, you and Cas are _married_. You blended in so well with humans that you married one. You use human slang, listen to human music, wear actual human-made clothes. You like it here."

Shaking his head, Dean says, "I fucking hate it here, man. This ain't home. This is just our place of employment, or whatever. I do all that human stuff to keep myself from dwelling on homesickness. Making the best of the situation. And when I can blend in, I feel better about it." He puts the bottle down and slides it across the table to Sam. "I'm doing what I do to make my life here bearable."

Sam picks up the beer and drains it. He belches softly. "Is that why you went for Cas?"

"Hell, no!" Dean exclaims, only barely holding back on shouting it with indignation. "Cas is the best thing that will ever happen to me on any plane of existence. I'm gonna spend his life here, and then I'm gonna do my damndest to take him with me for mine. I want him to be it for me. I can't imagine being happy any other way. I'm not built to fall in love over and over. And you knew that when you blessed us, despite your lecture to me before."

Sam raises his hands in defeat. "I was only making sure. And yeah, I knew what this was. You would have done it anyway, so I figured I might as well be supportive. We're family; I can sense how much you love him. But you gotta admit, you don't always do things for the right reasons."

Dean scoffs. "Sure I do. Maybe not always for the _smartest_ reasons, but always for the right ones."

Somehow, that makes Sam so happy that Dean can sense it clearly through their familial bond. "I missed you. I'm glad we were able to find each other physically this time around."

"Me too," Dean grins away his embarrassment. "Hey, at least in this day and age, we can always keep up with each other. I got a cell phone."

With a chuckle, Sam says, "Bobby only has electricity about sixty percent of the time, but I'll get one. I can't go decades without you being a pain my ass."

"Shut up, bitch," Dean laughs in mock offense.

"Make me," Sam challenges.

Dean lunges around the table, chair clattering to the ground, Sam's following a second later and they're tussling like they aren't fully grown adults, probably a handful of seconds away from breaking something or someone.

They make so much noise that it draws Castiel and Bobby shortly from the study. "What in the Sam Hill?" Bobby demands. "Thought me and Cas here raised you boys better."

The brothers are laughing so hard that Dean gets the hiccups, allowing Sam the opening to break the hold and get his older brother into a satisfying headlock.

"Sam," Castiel says deadpan, "as the larger of the Winchesters, I expected you to be better behaved."

"The fuck does _that_ have to do with anything?" Dean chokes from somewhere under the table. "We're married. You're supposed to be on my side!"

"I normally would be, but you probably started it," Castiel snorts.

"Did not!" Dean whines, at last released from Sam's hold. He jumps up, face red from exertion as the oxygen rushes back to his head. "Sam started this shit the day he was born."

"Fuck you," Sam pants, fixing his unruly hair. 

"Knock it off," Bobby sighs. "We got work to do, if you two idjits are done pushing each other into the sandbox."

Castiel nods. "The adults have been making a plan of attack for the storm, and need your input. It's moving in fast. We're out of time to waste."

"Honeymoon's over," Dean mutters petulantly, pulling his shirt back into order.

"Afterwards," Castiel smiles warmly.

"In the meantime," Bobby says pointedly, "Cas and I've been keeping an eye on the weather reports." He gestures to the laptop like getting too close would make it bite. "Power that thing up."

Sam opens the lid and searches for several different weather maps. "Hmm," he hums thoughtfully. "It'll pass right over the center of the city if we don't stop it first." He rights his chair and sits, Dean standing over his shoulder.

"Leading edge is west. Looks dirty."

Sam nods his agreement.

"Dirty?" Castiel breaks in. "What does that mean?"

"Unnatural," Bobby explains. "Most violent area. Usually where the magic is concentrated. That's the spot we should be shooting for."

Castiel nods. Then he addresses their familiars. "Bobby and I think it's best that we ride out to meet the storm, rather than waiting for it to get here. There's a rest stop with a motel and diner several miles outside of town. It's a great spot to wait because it'll take a direct hit if the pattern stays on course. We can at least try to break it up a bit before it hits the city, at the very least."

Sam zooms around on the map, studying the pattern and squall line carefully. "Good call. That's the safest option in case we fail."

"Don't be a damn jinx," Dean says. "We can handle it. Might be a big storm, but we got this."

"Ever the optimist," Sam smiles. "Still, this works. But if we can't dissipate enough of it, we won't have enough time for a recharge before it hits the city."

"No other choice," Bobby says. "Didn't know it was gonna get quite this bad until it did."

"We don't necessarily have to go big or go home," Castiel points out. "If we do this right, we can dissipate it enough that it doesn't harm the city. Pull the magic out and let nature take its course for the rest."

"Agreed," Dean says. "But we won't know how much is magical or meteorological until we get there." 

"Then quit yapping, and let's get to it," Bobby says. "Y'all get packed and we'll head out."

Castiel agrees. "We should only be gone a day or two, right? I'll pack light." He makes his way to his room, Dean trailing behind.

"You're nervous," Dean says when they're alone.

"I'm worried," Castiel answers, pulling his carry on bag out of the walk in closet. "It's not the same thing."

"'Course not," Dean smirks. "It's semantics. We're gonna be fine."

Castiel lays the suitcase on the bed then turns to face his brand new husband. "What happens if we fail?"

Dean steps over to him, gently taking his hands. "There's no disaster preparedness in the world that will save this city from casualties, wherever it hits. But you already knew that."

"I just needed confirmation," Castiel admits, releasing Dean to gather their warmest clothes for the task ahead. "Knowing what's at stake helps."

"Most people would say the opposite," Dean says, folding the shirts and sweaters that Castiel hands him.

Castiel shrugs, placing their jeans and extra pairs of socks in the suitcase. "I have confidence in my skills. I'm worried about facing stronger magic than we've ever dealt with, but you and I can do anything. I have faith in that. Besides, this is why I'm a witch, right?"

"I'll be with you every step of the way. So will Sam, so will Bobby. The four of us are plenty strong enough to beat this thing."

"I know." He zips up the case and places it on the floor. Dean takes the opportunity for some light making out, only to be deterred when Sam calls them out for sucking face instead of getting ready from all the way down the hall.

"Guess it's time," Dean says with wet lips and a crooked grin.

"Plenty of time later," Castiel smiles indulgently.

"We'll get two rooms."

"That wasn't even a question."

Outside, Castiel takes the driver's seat since he knows the city and surrounding suburbs inside and out. He gets them to the motel within the hour as the incoming storm clouds begin to darken the sky to the west. 

Sam and Dean look slightly more concerned now that they're seeing it in real life, Castiel and Bobby both quiet as they check in, subdued by the trepidation in their bonds, and closed off from whatever telepathic conversation the Winchester brothers are presumably having. They do get separate rooms, though.

Castiel keys the lock to his and Dean's room, Dean stopping his hand when he places it on the light switch, stalling him from turning it on. "Don't," he murmurs.

Castiel turns into Dean's arm in the anemic darkness, kissing him gently. Though they're bound in mind and soul, either of them can still prevent access to the more private thoughts they don't want in the bond. Castiel hasn't bothered save for the parts that could potentially connect them too much and rend them apart into the ether. But he gives in to Dean's blocks right now because Castiel's already afraid enough for the both of them. They've never done magic of this magnitude, and its spice is already in the air and on the back of his tongue. It's tangled, mixed up, and angry. Too many different elements sawing and sparking against each other in twisted barbs, getting caught up harder the more it tries to separate.

So, Castiel takes Dean's face in his hands. Cups his jaw, holds him still while he presses kiss after kiss against him.

Blessedly, Dean allows it, passively leaning back against the wall, letting Castiel explore at his leisure. Gradually, he thaws. As his fear gives way to arousal, he slowly starts to open the curtains he's closed in the bond. Castiel appreciates that Dean trusts him enough to not block him more solidly. Trusts him not to push. He doesn't have to because he knows neither of them will keep the most important things from each other. Certainly not the love, which is the most important part for now.

Castiel undresses Dean lovingly, reverently, only stopping kissing him when his shirt gets in the way as he pulls it over his head. "Is this really okay the night before our big show? We won't spend too much energy?"

"Nah, we're good if we stay conscious for it. Get our eight hours after."

"I can definitely do that," Castiel murmurs seductively, reaching for Dean's belt while Dean busies himself unbuttoning Castiel's shirt. "Though it was a lot easier when we could just blink our clothes away."

Dean grins against Castiel's collar bone. "I like feeling your hands on me taking off my clothes."

"I do like removing them. Easier isn't always better."

"I think you've said that to me before." Dean is pushing Castiel's pants down, keeping their bodies held close together, mouths seeking out lips, cheeks, necks, collars, and back to slow and searching when they're finally both naked standing in a pool of their discarded clothes. "We can do this, right? I want all of it, Cas."

"We've got plenty of time," Castiel agrees, skimming his fingers all over Dean's body, since his mouth can't seem to stray far from the familiar's. He doesn't want to think about tomorrow. He doesn't want to think about the rest of his life. All he wants is to be in the here and now for once. Just him. Just Dean. Nobody on the other side of the grimy motel room walls, no traffic outside, no impending storm. Just the heat of their bodies together. Just their bond. Just the carvings on their ribs. Just _them_.

Castiel takes the lead, walking them back towards the bed where Dean sits on top of the ugly floral comforter, feet resting on the stained carpet. Castiel kneels between his legs, ignoring everything except the thoughts and feelings being transmitted through the bond. And not all of it is of an carnal nature. Dean's hard. But he's also distracted. 

Castiel lays his head down on Dean's thigh, idly tracing patterns over the opposite leg with his fingertips. "You're acting like it's the last night of the world," he says.

Dean reaches down, stroking through Castiel's hair. "I know. I'm sorry. I just don't want anything to happen to you."

Castiel smiles, kisses Dean's knee, uses his hands and mouth to distract them both from where Dean's mind keeps wandering. "It won't with you there," he promises, nipping at the tender flesh of Dean's inner thighs. His hands skirt down over the familiar's balls, kneading until a sharp pulse of desire shoots through them both from their connection. "I don't say that lightly, either." His mouth makes its way up the underside of Dean's dick to the head. He sucks up the small bead of pre-come. "You are skilled enough to bring us through this." He kisses down the length, underneath to the vein. Dean's strong thighs tense under his hands. "And I have never loved anyone as I love you, Dean Winchester." He flattens his tongue along Dean's length and drags it back up to the head, over the tip, then slowly sinks his mouth down over Dean's cock until it brushes the back of his throat. Dean makes a low keening sound the entire way.

They haven't tested it much, but now's as good a time as any to try. _Don't come yet._

Dean moans and fists into Castiel's hair tightly. "I won't. Fuckin' won't, Cas. W-want you inside me, like, right the fuck now." He taps frantically at Castiel's hand until the witch releases him and holds his palm up. The bottle of Astroglide has already been opened for him.

As measured as possible, he thinks, _calm down,_ and pushes as much sedate lust into the bond as he can. Dean fails to comply until Castiel adds, _I won't be able to get my dick inside you if you continue to remain tense. Breathe in. Breathe out._

Dean's breath rushes out of his lungs in a half laugh, half sigh, but it works. He starts to loosen up. The second he begins his next inhale, Castiel slips a lubed finger past his rim, and brings his mouth back up with hard suction. Dean cries out and the bulb on the bedside lamp shatters. They break a lot of lights together.

Castiel chuckles and continues his forward momentum up, kissing over Dean's belly and the trail of coarse hair. Peppers his abs with gentle bites and swirls of his tongue to soothe the sting. All the while his fingers work Dean open, pushing in, searching. Withdrawing, then deeper in. His mouth also continues on its trajectory, reaches Dean's nipples and takes one into his mouth between his teeth, Dean moaning and shuddering so violently, that for a moment he's worried that the man's come already. But then Dean lets out a string of foreign expletives and grinds his hips down over the two fingers now stretching him open. He makes lovely noises. Castiel will never get enough of it.

And he certainly takes all the time he wants, because he said he would. One hand opening him, the other stroking indulgently on his cock, thumbing around the foreskin, over the sensitive glans. His mouth latches onto Dean's nipple, tongue circling hard, teeth leaving bruising marks on the areola. He's at it mercilessly for several minutes, but then he can feel Dean get close to the edge. Immediately, his fingers pressed inside Dean still, the rest of his ministrations coming to an abrupt halt.

Dean actually yells, and it cuts off into a reedy while. "Cas, god-fucking-dammit, you _asshole_! Why'd you stop. Don't goddamn _stop_!"

"I'm stopping," Castiel drawls. "I want you to come while you're full of me."

The grimace tightening his facial muscles eases into a lazy grin. "Yeah, you're right, and there's such thing as a refractory period now. Sucks."

Castiel eases his fingers out of Dean's hole, massaging around the sensitive rim several times before he's completely withdrawn. He crawls up his husband's body. "I'll make it worth your while, I promise."

Dean holds his arms out. Castiel collapses into them with a happy noise, kissing him deeply, thoroughly. He even lets Dean vent some of his frustration by rolling his hips up between them for some pressure and friction. Dean's blunt nails dig into Castiel's shoulders, and the small sparks of pain add to the intense waves of pleasure they're both broadcasting in a mind blowing feedback loop. It's enough to jolt a bolt of electricity up Castiel's spine that ricochets over to Dean and they both groan simultaneously. So much for lasting all night.

Dean makes a tiny yelp that sounds like, "lube!"

Castiel grabs for it right then, shaking hands fumbling it as he tries to pop the lid again. Impatient, Dean shoots up, and takes it for him, squirting a generous amount into his palm and takes Castiel's dick in his hand, stroking shamelessly until he senses that Castiel is about to come because turnabout is fair play.

Of course, Castiel nearly coming makes Dean almost come, so they pause again, Dean straddling Castiel's thighs, arms around each other, foreheads touching. Going a bit cross eyed, Dean smiles, "everything about you, Cas. You're just..."

Castiel huffs a quiet laugh. Trails his fingers over Dean's jaw. "You're so beautiful. Handsome."

"I don't care which word you use, as long as you mean it."

"You know I do. I mean them all."

Dean presses in for another kiss. As they come down from the edge again, Castiel lets Dean urge him up the bed so that he's half-lying on the sad excuse for a stack of pillows. A second later he's sunk down onto Castiel's cock, swift and confident. They both moan loudly.

"Amazing," Dean breathes. He wiggles his hips a little, testing, searching, " _shityeah!_ " when Castiel's cock brushes his prostate. "Can I move? Can I ride you?" Dean gasps, eyes falling shut. 

Castiel's hand tighten on his hips, digging into the divots in front of the bone. "Yes, please." He shifts his legs up, planting his feet.

Despite the desperation that's etched into every line of Dean's body, he doesn't go fast. He threads their fingers together, leans forward using his body weight to get Castiel to lie back completely. From there Dean pins Castiel's arms to the mattress, using the leverage to balance himself as he begins to move. Long luxurious strokes interspersed with hard grinding rolls, pausing for breath whenever either of them pulse a warning through the bond. All night might be back on the table as an option again. Or close enough for Castiel's sanity. He's never felt so sated and satisfied without having come in his entire life.

He does what he can to assist. Thrusts his hips up to meet Dean's movements. Heat coils in his belly, roiling gently to the tips of his toes to the top of his head. It gathers in his core, spreading ever outwards. And even if he couldn't feel the responding need in Dean, he can hear it. See it. _Feel_ it. His fingers slide in the sweat on Dean's back as they press into the dimples on the base of his spine.

Dean's whole body pulls taut with his pleasure, like a bowstring ready to fire. He breathes his adoration into Castiel's mouth, against his forehead. Rides him for all he's worth.

It's too late to stop it again when their orgasms well up. Dean comes first, untouched with a trembling moan and burst of static energy that rattles the picture frames on the walls. His ass clenches tightly on Castiel's dick, internal muscles fluttering, and Castiel is forced into his own release, spilling hot inside Dean and making a window pane crack dangerously.

They hold each other tightly, never letting go. They ride the aftershocks together, still moving, still touching, calming themselves and each other. They have all night.

***

Neither of them are aware that they've even fallen asleep for a while until Dean is waking up and patting Castiel's arm resting heavily over his chest. "Gotta clean up," he murmurs.

"Mnh," Castiel answers.

Chuckling, Dean rolls Castiel's dead weight off and slips out of the bed to shower. Castiel's asleep again when he returns, barely having woken up in the first place. Dean does the chivalrous thing and mops up the lube and come from his husband's belly before flopping into the bed again and settling the scratchy sheets over them. "Love you," he whispers, kissing Castiel's forehead.

His witch curls against him mumbling something that, through the bond at least, sounds like an answer of affection.

And it's easy to meet up again in the bond. Castiel is sitting on the dock, bare feet dangling into the lake. Dean joins him quietly, sitting down shoulder to shoulder. They're silent for a long time, until Castiel says, "what are you thinking about?"

"You can read my mind," Dean answers.

Castiel smiles. "I know, but that's like an invasion of privacy."

"I'm not human, it's fine with me."

"Of course," Castiel says, turning his head to meet his eyes. "But are you ever alone with your own thoughts? Don't you ever want silence in your head?"

Dean's eyes widen minutely and he can't stop the pulse of anxiety that wafts into the shared portion of their bond. Castiel reaches out automatically to draw Dean closer. Dean reaches out and touches Castiel's face gently. "Do you want that? Do you not get enough of that?"

Castiel shakes his head. He knows Dean can feel his sincerity. "I was asking about you. I don't feel like I'm losing myself with this bond, don't worry. I've been physically alone for so long, that it's nice having you here even when I'm sleeping if I don't feel like dreaming. I don't think I'm meant to be alone. I've always preferred being with people that I care about."

Dean squeezes his witch's shoulder. "I've just never known anything different. When I'm home, I live with my family bond, and when I'm here I live with our bond. I'm never without one."

"Is there anything you keep to yourself ever?"

Dean chuckles. "Yeah. Not a whole lot, I guess, but sure there is. You think Sam wants to know when we're fucking?"

Castiel lets out a short, startled laugh. "Yes, I suppose that's for the best."

Grinning, Dean wills away his shoes and kicks his feet into the water. "Right? And I mean it when I say I'm fine with you keeping anything to yourself."

Castiel huffs. "It's only one thing. You know everything else. And even that one thing..." He stares off past the lake. "I want you to know about it."

"Cas," Dean says softly. Just that. No pressure or weight to it.

Shaking his head, Castiel says, "please don't worry about me that way. I'm comfortable with what we have. If I wanted something else, I'd tell you. You'd know."

Dean leans against him more firmly, nuzzling him almost like a cat. "Yeah."

"I love you, Dean," Castiel says softly. "With all my heart."

"Me, too," Dean answers. "That's all that matters."

***

They've set an alarm to wake up the next morning with enough time to make final preparations for the storm and eat a large breakfast since Dean will whine all day if they don't, but the clock doesn't wake Castiel. It's the storm. 

There's nothing happening yet at their location. The skies are calm, though starting to get cloudy. It's the magic. It's the strangest sensation. Castiel's never felt anything quite like it before. It's like small jolts of electricity against his skin, almost in his brain. It makes him internally twitchy. His eyes fly open, and he expects... something different when he opens his eyes, but there's nothing out of place. He'd think he was coming down with something the way the magic makes his body ache, but it's the same as before he'd met Dean. The molasses in his bloodstream.

"It'll be okay," Dean murmurs from beside him, still mostly asleep. "Try to block some of it out until it's time."

A small whimper of discomfort leaks from Castiel's lips, and he burrows against Dean's warmth. "How do I do that?"

Dean wraps him up in his arms. Puts their foreheads together. "Same as everything else. Build up a wall between you and the magic. Maybe picture it like a second skin. Armor that it can't get through."

Castiel's never prided himself on his imagination; he's never been good at this sort of thing, but he tries because it hurts, and what hurts him, hurts Dean. He closes his eyes and pictures a pool filled with thick water the consistency of paraffin. He steps into it, sinking down over his head until he's covered from head to toe. He knows Dean is peeking into his head watching, because his familiar breathes a small laugh and then sighs when the protection begins to work. It's only a negligible amount of magic used, but it does wonders. The crackling stops and he feels normal again when he opens his eyes. "That was awful," Castiel mutters.

Dean kisses him. "You're more sensitive to magic than any other human I've ever known. And this thing we're walking into? It's pretty pissed off."

"I won't be able to sleep again after that," Castiel says. "Should I bother to take a shower, or wait until after?"

Asking that question is kind of a mistake. Since they'd entered a relationship, Dean has become a bit of a pervert. His idea is barely out of his head, transmitting through the bond before Castiel is laughing and rolling on top of him, kissing his deeply. 

Time isn't on their side anymore, so Dean wrestles them out of the bed and stumbles towards the bathroom, ripping at their clothes and under the worst water pressure ever in the blink of an eye. But it doesn't matter because Castiel's mouth is latched to Dean's neck, and they're both _so hard_ , and the sensations remind them that they're so _alive_ ; that they're together. That the world they're a part of is going to be saved because of them. That they're a part of each other.

Not fully awake yet and dizzy with arousal, Castiel isn't even sure if they manage to get any soap or shampoo on them. But the desperation that is coming from one of them, both of them, either of them, forces nothing else to matter. There's just hands stroking dicks, balancing the building of pleasure to make _sure_ they come together. They can. It's perfect. Castiel's not sure if he's crying, but it feels like it as Dean's calloused hand matches his pace. 

_Maybe for a second,_ Castiel tells himself, sobbing into Dean's mouth. _Maybe I can just for a second._

Dean comes with a small cry. Castiel demolishes every last one of his barriers, bringing them both to their knees as his own orgasm powerfully wracks him. Dean's shaking so hard that his teeth audibly chatter. "Cas," he whispers brokenly. "You can't - don't let me - I won't be able to-"

Castiel takes Dean in a crushing hug. Their combined passion and fear overwhelms them both. Dean tries to talk again, but Castiel tangles his fingers in his familiar's hair, squeezing in warning. "Don't reject it, Dean," he growls. "You need this. It's the only way."

Shoulders heaving, voice wavering, "I won't be able to leave you."

"I don't want you to." It's a monumental effort to keep his voice strong, sure. "Please. Dean, I'm giving in. There's nothing for me without you, alive or dead."

"Don't say that, Cas!" Dean says fiercely. "Your soul... I don't want it to disappear."

"Then you'll have to take it with you," Castiel says gently. He pulls Dean's head back to meet his eyes. "Take me with you when it's our time. Until then, you need everything. Even I know we can't do what needs to be done today unless we hold nothing back from each other. I'm not scared of that, Dean. It's too big."

Dean nods. Kisses him. "I know."

"Good. Are you ready?"

Dean's green eyes harden. "Yeah. There's nothing we can't do, Cas. I really believe that."

Castiel cracks a smile. "Me, too."

Dean stands up, only swaying a little, and holds his hand out to help Castiel to his feet. He flips off the water and grabs the towels.

Beyond the door, the zero hour looms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're almost at the end now! :D


	8. Chapter 08

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel and Dean discover their true power.

"It looks like a hurricane," Castiel observes in wonder. The exaggeration isn't all that much. About a mile away, churning over them is a maelstrom of dark clouds whipping snow and ice like a tornado around the fields and open areas leading towards the suburbs where they are currently situated a few miles away from the hotel. And despite Castiel's protective mental coating, the energy is too much to keep out from under his skin. And it's a clash of cords rather than the strange resonance he'd felt before. It hurts like hell. But he pushes himself towards it because among the metallic angry magic, he can also smell fresh pine and earth from trees being uprooted.

"Looked a lot smaller on the radar," Dean says, starting to sound slightly concerned. To his brother he asks, "you ever seen anything like this?"

"Yeah, on the evening news," Sam says grimly. "This is definitely going to be tricky."

Bobby snorts. "Don't be getting cold feet now."

"I'm not," Sam says, "I just think we underestimated this a little."

Castiel wraps his arms around himself to stave off the cold and the biting wind gusts. "Why does it feel so mad? Magic can't have feelings, can it?"

Thunder rumbles, a lightning strike unnaturally yellow and blue.

Dean shakes his head. "No, but when it gets all tangled up and can't get free, it gets more violent since it doesn't have an outlet."

Castiel bites back a pained moan. "We need to get going. It's starting to hurt."

Sam ties his scarf around his neck securely. "Okay, Bobby and I need to stay close. We'll slow it down as much as we can. Dean, you and Cas back off as far as you can."

"Got it," Dean says. "It's go time, Cas."

Too scared to give it further thought, Castiel trades Bobby the driver's seat and Dean slides in next to him. Immediately, Castiel reaches between them to thread their fingers together. The contact grounds him. He siphons Dean's courage as his own as they drive back to the motel. He wishes they had even a couple more minutes to prepare, but it's time. Wind buffets the car as he parks in the lot.

Sensing his hesitation, Dean takes the lead. He braces against the wind, leading them up the fire escape to the motel's roof. The stairs are slippery with ice and difficult to climb. Castiel's whole body aches with the cold.

"Shit," Dean murmurs. From here the clouds look like a roiling tsunami. It looks impossible from here. "Come on," He says softly, words torn away by the gale. Castiel can feel them, and all the other things being left unsaid in the interest of time. "I'm with you."

Castiel draws in a fortifying breath that's like needles in his lungs. Faces out towards the storm. Even from a distance he can feel the magic resonating. He can taste the snow that hasn't reached them yet. He raises his hands, palms out, and draws the wind towards himself. The violent blue and yellow ropes of magic swirling and condensing the storm refuse to be moved from the tangled tornado they've created. "Dean," Castiel calls over the noise. "We might be too far away. I can't grab any of it."

The only warmth for miles is Dean's breath on the shell of his ear. "Reach further. I know you can." His hands steady Castiel's hips and he opens the bond as far as he can.

Dean's faith helps. Gives Castiel the last boost that he needs. He turns his hands over, palms facing up in supplication. The electric shock of his magical ability pouring out of him numbs his fingers.

Dean grunts when their energy reaches the gale, the magic attempting to repel Castiel's control like two poles of a magnet. A freaking powerful magnet. "Grab it!" Dean encourages. "You got it!"

For a terrifying second, Castiel can't get his frozen fingers to obey. But then they spasm and he's able to grab a yellow strand stretched too far from the whole and weak. It's not much, but it's something. A foot in the door. It hurts like sticking his fingers in an outlet.

Dean's grip tightens briefly. He's hurting, too. "Keep going," he urges, strained. "Let's unravel this shit."

Doubling down, Castiel rests his weight against Dean's chest. Dean's hands snake up Castiel's arms, pressing against the backs of his hands, offering his strength. Fleetingly, Castiel wishes he hadn't worn gloves. But it helps either way. He reaches out again, grasping. This time he manages to capture two more substantial strands. They yank against him like an untrained dog on a leash. The wind whips furiously in answer.

Dean holds on even tighter, trying to keep them upright as the winter storm draws ever closer, drawn by Castiel's strength. Along the leading edge there's finally a small opening. The spinning slows marginally. Suddenly, the blue strand in Castiel's left hand snaps. His arm shoots up, and he curses as he loses his balance, nearly smacking Dean in the nose.

"Gotta get more," Dean shouts over the roar. "Monster's showing its teeth! You can see the magic, right? Gather more and weave them together!"

There's no telltale burn yet, so they haven't drained any of the magic tangling in the clouds, and the pinpricks of snow have reached them. "How do I do that?" Castiel calls back, only glancing over his shoulder.

"Follow me!" Dean answers. Castiel relaxes his muscles, allowing Dean full control of his limbs. It's liberatingly easy. Dean guides their right arms out to the side. Reaches into the storm with their left. Castiel makes a fist, successfully taking hold of another thin yellow strand. As soon as he has it, Dean yanks their right hands over their left, spinning them end over end to twirl them together. "Left!" he calls.

Catching on, Castiel passes the entire woven strand to his left hand. Right hand now empty, he grabs for another strand, misses. Goes again and gets it. Again and again until they have a sturdy rope gathered. It's strong enough that it doesn't break when the storm fights back hard, dragging witch and familiar to the edge of the roof. Castiel stomps his feet against the curb, pulling until he's leaning backwards with the strain of holding the leash.

Dean chants a litany of swear words, his strain clearly broadcast through the bond. Castiel almost panics. He's got no clue what to do now. The storm is _angry_ , gnawing at the leash. Out of his peripheral vision he makes out a flash of pink light. Sam and Bobby are just managing to slow the gale down with blocking sigils. They're managing. They can do this. They _can_.

The thought is barely formed when the burn starts. Searing up Castiel's arms into his core. It's much more intense than the sinkhole, though he can sense an unfamiliar energy aiding them. Almost complementary. Almost familiar. _Oh_. Sam and Bobby soaking up what they can.

The storm draws nearer. It's not enough. He has to take more. He opens the bond wider sucking the fire into him, praying that Dean gets his silent plea to gorge himself. "Good, Cas," Dean says directly into his ear. Sighing, Dean eats the magic that Castiel feeds him. His body grows so warm that Castiel can actually feel his heat through the layers of clothing. His palms sweat with fever. Distress surges through the bond. Laced with determination. _Dean's going to try to take more than he can handle_. He can't let him do that. He has to protect them. Everyone. It's why he's here. He can't hide behind Dean because he's afraid and then blame it on the familiar's greater experience. Now is not the time to indulge his husband's self-sacrifice. The second he can feel that Dean's gone from full to painfully overstuffed, Castiel gathers everything within them both - the love, peace, joy, pride, forever - and slams the wall up. 

"No!" Dean yells, realizing too late. He pounds frantically at the wall, but Castiel won't be broken. His desire to protect overrides his lack of practice building mental walls. It won't tumble.

The force of his denial sends Dean physically reeling. He collapses to his knees, gasping and retching. 

Castiel, on his own, closes his eyes, opens his arms wide, and welcomes the deluge as he powerfully shoves away and dissipates the magic that he's already collected.

It hurts so fucking much that Castiel knows immediately he's going to die. This amount of magic is going to kill him. His only hope is that he's blocked the bond enough that Dean can survive it. He probably won't, but the thought at least keeps him from chickening out. He'd like to have been married a little longer. Liked to have made Dean a little bit happier.

Even though he can't sense Dean anymore, he knows that his husband is trying to get at him. But there's no stopping it anymore. He twists his wrists, double wrapping the magic bands around his arms, the pain unbearable. He takes it because the other option is that hundreds or thousands of people get injured or killed, and billions of dollars in damage. He can't carry that amount of guilt. So he lets the magic sear him like frostbite. The roiling clouds engulf him in a tornado of ozone and thunder. He grinds his teeth together, groaning with the effort to consume it. The ground beneath him shakes. His heart beats impossibly fast. The snow flies around him in a razor-sharp hurricane. It feels like his head is splittting open. The air itself lifts him off of his feet, carrying him indeterminately high. It rips him in every direction. Castiel can't hear himself scream. The magic rips through his body, filling him like a nuke ready to go off. He's the eye of the storm. With one final push, he throws his arms up. The concussive blast of displaced magic ruptures his eardrums. 

Castiel blinks and sees a hint of blue sky. That's the best that could have hoped for. He can't smile, but no one would see it anyway. He only has enough energy left to close his eyes and fall from the height to which he'd been raised. Everything goes totally black before his body hits the ground.

***

"I knew it would go like this," Sam says softly. "I knew it."

"You did what you could," Bobby says, void of his usual snark.

"I'm not blaming myself," Sam shakes his head. "It would be unproductive. Dean's always done what he wanted. Guess he found someone as reckless as him."

"Ain't that always the way."

"I'm right the fuck here," Dean grouches, exhausted. "Stop talking over me. I'm so fucking tired of people talking over me."

"Fine," Sam snaps back. "You all here? You look like shit. You're fading."

Dean leans forward in the uncomfortable plastic chair, adjusting his grip on Castiel's cold hand. "I fucking _know_ that, Sam."

"Then maybe you should-" he chokes himself off, realizing how loud his voice is. Much softer he continues, "you need to let go soon. Dean, you promised."

"Yeah, well, it's a lie now," Dean grits. "A week ago... two weeks ago, I could have done it, but I can't anymore, Sam. I can't live however much longer without Cas. I can't have another bond with some other witch."

Sam rolls his eyes, but the sympathy and concern are thick in his expression. "I know you feel that way now. You _always_ feel that way when you've bonded extra close to someone. But after a while back home when you've been able to recharge..."

The metal chair legs screech against the tiles. Dean gets right in his brother's face, radiating hostility. Bobby wisely excuses himself to get coffee or some other feeble excuse that neither of them pay attention to.

"You _do not_ want to go where you're going with that thought," Dean warns. "My bond with Cas has _never_ been the same as all the others. Not even you have had a bond like this."

"I do understand that," Sam relents slightly. "You and Cas are like Mom and Dad. Or you're trying to be. But..." he glances towards the bed. "Dad was never on life support before he died of old age."

"He'll get better," Dean stubbornly insists. "Doctors say he's been improving. His vitals are steady." He thumps into the chair again to hold his husband's hand. Barely audible, he repeats, "he'll get better."

Sam sits on the opposite side of the bed near the door. Out of his brother's reach. "I'm not stupid. The only reason Cas is 'getting better' is because you're feeding him from your magic reserves. And it's killing you faster, too."

"I know that, and I don't give a shit," Dean says plainly. "I'm not doing this without Cas. I may have promised you, but I promised him more."

Sam dips his head, hair curtaining his face so that Dean can't tell what his brother is about to say now that he's blocked their familial bond. He waits it out, though, because he deserves whatever Sam has to say about his older brother effectively committing suicide.

Sam clears his throat. There's no disguising the tears when he speaks. "You know I love you, right?" 

"Yeah," Dean answers softly.

"You know I've always wanted you to find contentment above just happiness, right?"

Dean swallows past the shards in his throat. "I do now."

Sam's red-rimmed eyes meet Dean's. "I'm glad I got the chance to meet the person who helped you find that." He shoves his fists into his coat pockets. "Just promise me you won't leave before saying goodbye."

Dean meets his brother halfway, wrapping him in a tight bear hug. "Nothing's decided yet," he says roughly. "Have faith. Believe me, okay?"

"I want to." Sam holds his brother just as tightly. "I'll try. But if it doesn't..."

"I'll keep you posted," Dean promises. Which is enough for Sam, who shortly leaves to find Bobby and return to the condo, leaving Dean alone with his husband and his hope. 

Castiel doesn't make it easy for him. Not by a long shot. He sleeps on and on and his mind and body grow weaker. Dean can feel him slowly seep away. Sam's right; Castiel is dying. There's one chance left to break their bond before it's too late. Dean squeezes Castiel's hand in both of his, bows his head, and expends the last of his magic reserves. 

***

"You must be Castiel." The man who shimmers into view before him is handsome. Dark salt and pepper hair, heavy eyebrows, dimples when he smiles. 

"I am," Castiel says, comforted by the stranger's presence for some odd reason.

"Good to know you," the man says. "You're doing a hell of thing here, y'know."

Castiel glances around at the opalescent nothingness around them. "What, dying? I thought it was pretty easy once it started."

The man laughs rich and full. "You ain't dead, son. Not yet." He stuffs his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "And if my boy, Dean has anything to say about it, you won't be for a long time."

Castiel's eyes widen. "You're John Winchester."

"Yeah."

"Sam and Dean," Castiel stutters, "... your sons, they... they really speak highly of you. I... well, I suppose I built up an image that..." he cringes. "It's very nice to meet you," he says lamely. "Though, I don't understand how it can he happening."

John's laugh fades to a chuckle. He pats himself on his chest. "Your ribs, kid. You're marked with the same sigils all the Winchesters are. Any of us can find you, and you can find any of us if you know how to look. We can teach you if you survive the next step."

"I'm sorry, what?" He asks, dazed.

John Winchester heaves a huge sigh, eyes pointed down towards his feet. "I probably should'a figured that one of those fool boys of mine would pull a stunt like this. Bonding with a human. Mary and I agreed that we'd keep them from the bad parts because the familiar community can be kinda shitty towards anyone different, but here and now, I realize that was a stupid move."

"How do I do it?" Castiel demands. "Mr. Winchester, I... I _need_ to be with Dean. How do I get to him?"

John Winchester beams brightly, his former sadness gone in an instant. "Well, if his mother is done helping him get his head outta his ass, just grab him through your bond." He steps close to Castiel and places his palm flat on the man's chest. His smile fades to steely serious, though not without warmth. "When you got him good and tight, don't let him go. Not for anything. You get me?"

"Yes, sir," Castiel says determinedly. He can't feel his bond with Dean right now, but if Mary is really with her son, that'll change if he can just hang on to life for a little while longer.

John mutters a spell, and Castiel feels a flash of heat against his ribs. The joining sigil. "Be seeing you soon," John says, and once again, the world goes dark. 

***

"Oh, Dean," Mary Winchester sighs. "You've stepped in it this time, haven't you?"

Dean groans, rubbing his temples. "I sure as shit did," he answers, too weary trying to find Castiel to argue. Or move from his prone position on the ground.

Mary beams over her son, rolling her eyes.

"Hey, Mom," he smiles tiredly.

"Hey, dumbass," she smiles back.

Dean looks over her shoulder to the milky nothingness surrounding them. "Where the hell are we?"

Mary holds out her hand to help Dean to his feet. He stumbles up, swaying against her. "You're in the In Between."

Dean blinks rapidly, slowly getting steadier. "Cas didn't survive?"

"He's still alive-ish, thanks to you. But he's so weak that you're both being pulled under, no thanks to you."

"Dammit," Dean mutters. "I thought it'd be fine with my last stores. Thought it'd do more."

"You should have let him die," Mary says bluntly.

"No," Dean grits. "I had to try. I love him, Mom. I... I had to."

She scoffs. "Dean, I won't sugarcoat this. What you did wasn't love, it was selfishness. If you'd let him die naturally and broken the bond properly, you never would have seen him again, and you didn't want that. You wanted more time with him. But now you're screwed with only one option left to you that has almost a zero chance of success."

"I don't believe that," Dean denies stubbornly. "I don't. It worked for you and Dad."

Mary crosses her arms over her chest. "Your dad and I were just as stupid and it was pure luck that kept us together."

Dean spreads his arms wide. "What if it wasn't? And even if it was, I'm not like you. I'm not like Dad. I'm somewhere in the middle. Sam and I aren't either human or familiar. Maybe that's what'll do it. Whatever the case, you can't stop me from trying, and I'd appreciate some fucking support if this is the last we're going to see each other."

Mary's shoulders slouch, her hard expression melting towards deep sorrow. "I'm not... Dean, I'm not trying to ride you. I'm not angry. I'm worried. I'm not ready to say goodbye to you."

Dean steps to her, holding both her hands. Softly he says, "then tell me how to be stupid, Mom. You were like this once, and you made it. Tell me how."

Mary places her hand on her son's chest. "You need to find Castiel and hope that he wants to come home with you. Can you do that?"

Dean glances around, but there's nothing except pearlescent white forever. "I can't sense him." His ribs flash hot as Mary removes her hand.

"Look harder," she advises. "Find him. You don't have long." With kind eyes, she cups Dean's face, drawing him down. Dean's eyes slip shut and he feels a gentle kiss to his forehead. "I love you, baby. I'll see you soon."

Everything fades.

***

"Dean?"

That blessed rough voice. It forces the tears out. Dean opens his eyes, finding Castiel's right away. "Heya, Cas," he croaks.

Castiel tilts his head to the side, looking straight through Dean. "Oh, so I really am dying, aren't I?"

"Yeah," Dean answers, not bothering to lie. There's no point. It won't change anything.

Castiel walks up to him slowly, taking him gently into his arms. "Your energy has been keeping me alive," he says against his shoulder.

Dean buries his nose in Castiel's hair, brushing a hand over the back of his neck, grounding. "Nah, not really. Modern medicine is keeping you alive. My magic was just healing the stuff the doctors couldn't."

"You did what you could," Castiel says lovingly. "It's not your fault I couldn't get better. I appreciate you giving me the time you did."

"I didn't come here to bury you," Dean says severely. "I came here to save you. My mom helped me find you."

Castiel draws back. "I met your father. He told me I'd have to make a choice. That whatever we decide may not work. And I want..." his face scrunches. "Dean, you can't save me at the expense of yourself. We didn't go through all of this for you to sacrifice yourself for me." The pain on his face is old and deep. "Don't do it."

Dean plants his hands on his hips. Hangs his head. "I won't die. I'll just... go back home." Every word hurts more and more to say. "It's the only option that's a guarantee of a positive outcome. I give you the rest of my reserves. Sever the bond. That much would let you die naturally, and send me back home."

Castiel can sense it's not the whole truth. Or at least not as cut and dry as Dean's making it out to be. He won't agree to anything without the whole truth. "I thought the bond couldn't be broken. What have you been keeping from me?"

"It's often dangerous, so rarely done unless it's life or death, but it's possible. If we both make the effort, we can do it. The way that souls get lost is like I told you before. Two people holding on when they shouldn't. Trying to go somewhere they're not supposed to be."

"And not having enough to get there," Castiel finishes.

"Yeah," Dean says. "But I think we do. I think we can, Cas. We need to try. I don't wanna do this without you." Then, like he can't stand the three feet of distance between them, gathers Castiel up in his arms, hard enough to squeeze the air out of his lungs.

It feels so good. Like it should. The rightness of it is surprising every time. Tears spring to his eyes. "I want to give in," Castiel sobs, "Dean, I do, but _what if_?"

Dean holds him tighter, taking down every barrier he has. Every barrier there _is_. He lets Castiel see all of it. The things he shouldn't see. The things he couldn't see. It's foolish. Dangerous to give Castiel that much power if he rejects it, but he does it because it's necessary if he accepts, and Dean needs him to accept. 

The power of it overwhelms Castiel, and Dean can feel him trying desperately to take it all in. He can't; not all at once, but despite the danger inherent in it, Dean smiles at the part that Castiel latches onto. Of course of all the stuff he's not supposed to know, it would be this.

" _Michael_ ," Castiel gasps, reaching out instinctively. "Your true name-"

Dean crushes their mouths together and holds onto his witch like he's never done before. Like he could crawl inside his soul and live there forever. The experience is painful, but exquisite. Terrifying, but right. All he can do is pray that they end up where they need to be together. "Don't open your eyes," he whispers. "Just stay with me. Feel me. Hold on to the bond."

Castiel gasps, and grabs tighter as everything, including their bodies, begins to dissolve. A slow mechanical beeping echoing from the distance gives way to a mournful sustained whine. "I'm scared," he says, voice becoming faint as his vocal cords begin to decay.

The steady floor beneath them begins to crumble. Dean buries his face in Castiel's neck. "Me, too. Just don't let me go."

Slowly, as their manifested bodies fade, Dean feels himself sinking into Castiel. Their molecules start to fly apart, but their bond remains strong. Souls tangled. It tries to yank itself apart; a searing heat shocks through it, and he feels the last of his solidity lose its grip on his witch. " _CAS_!" he screams. He's sure he can hear something, but it's gone in a heartbeat to the blackness. Dean flails like a drowning man, but then he's taken, too, and gone from the mortal plane.

***

Someone is crying somewhere nearby. Loudly.

"You need to cut that out, it's annoying," a deep voice says.

"Shut up, John," a female voice admonishes. "He's allowed to miss his brother. And you're allowed to miss your son."

"Can't miss someone who ain't gone," John Winchester growls.

"Dad," Sam says brokenly, "it's been... i-it's been a long time. Should we really be doing all this every day, holding out hope that-"

"Sam!" Mary says sharply. Their voices grow fainter as she draws her younger son away. "Let him. He's not harming anything. Not using any magic we need elsewhere. Let him mourn. You just got back, so you don't know... but... let him mourn."

"Mom, he's not mourning, he's ignoring."

"He's allowed. He'd do the same for you."

Their voices fade to nothing.

"Dean, I'm gonna need ya to come back to us," John's gruff voice says. "Sam's being a jackass. Don't blame him or your mom for feeling like they do when you get here, though. It ain't their fault. It's been a long damn time. But... y'know, I'm holding out hope 'cause there ain't no flowers growing around you. Your body ain't decaying. You're just... still kinda here. That's why I think you're still looking. Taking your sweet fucking time about it, too. Find Cas and get your ass back here."

Indeterminate silence. "Love you, son."

***

This whole dying thing doesn't hurt. It doesn't _anything_. It's kind of lame, truth be told. Dean wishes he doesn't have to do it, but he can feel himself stuck. Alone. But maybe that means he's not really dead? Or coming back from being dead? He has no concept of time, but something vague inside of him pings him like it's been awhile since he's been aware of anything. That he's almost certainly _coming back from_ rather than _fading into_.

Either way it's like swimming through jello trying to get _somewhere_. At this point he really doesn't care where, as long as he's out of here. As long as he's _somewhere_. The more he becomes aware of his surroundings, the more disconcerting it is to be nowhere.

Thankfully, the longer he floats, the more solid he becomes. Or thinks he's becoming. It's so hard to tell. He wishes his father would keep talking. It's easier to focus on being when he has something to latch onto.

And like the answer to a prayer, he hears a voice, but it's not his dad. "Dean, I'm sorry," Sam says. "I'm so sorry. I said a lot of things before, and now, and I... I shouldn't have."

_Keep talking,_ Dean tries to say, but he's not sure where his mouth ended up.

Blessedly, he does. "I only got back a few days ago, and I haven't really... I didn't come to see you except the one time. Bobby... he passed away about ten years after Cas did. I was there when he did, y'know. Just in case, I did our funeral rites since you said he had no family, and since you were married to him..." his voice fades to nothing for a while. "We tried to figure out what'd happened to you, Bobby and me, but... we couldn't. I'd hoped you hadn't gone to the ether. I'm sorry I couldn't do more. And I'm sorry about Cas. I really, really am."

Dean opens his eyes.

Sam doesn't so much as blink. His red-rimmed eyes meet his older brother's, and he can't even register what he's seeing.

"Cas is here," Dean rasps, grinning like he can't remember how. "I'm here. We're here."

Sam grabs his brother, hauling him up, giving him some nasty vertigo, but also giving him a lot of tactile sensations to ground him since his feet haven't been anywhere near such things in a freaking _decade_. "Dean," Sam says. Then again. Chants it over and over.

Dean finally figures out how to get his arms working, pounding his brother on the back. "Good to see ya, Sammy," his unused voice says, growing stronger.

"You made it back," Sam whispers hysterically. "You actually did it! Holy shit! Shit, Dean, you're back!"

"Gotta find Cas," Dean says, feeling the tug. The same pull he'd felt all those years ago when they'd first met on the edge. "Gotta-" He falls straight on his ass when he tries to stand. Right. He's been lying dead and naked for ten years. "Help me," he begs.

Definitely sensing his desperation, Sam helps. He lets Dean rest heavily against him as they stumble out of the family's mossy burial cave. "We're gonna have a nice, long talk about this later," he promises.

"No kidding," Dean quips. 

But his brother's pity is everlasting. "Where is he? I mean, this is a big place. He could have ended up anywhere."

"I know," Dean says, stronger with each stumbling step. "I know where he is. Come on." He shuffles as fast as he can, after a while dragging Sam more than Sam is supporting him.

"What the hell?" Sam murmurs. "Where'd this lake come from?"

Dean lets go of his brother. Lopes down the familiar dock. Castiel is sitting on the edge, bathing in the sun, gloriously tanned and naked, feet dangling in the water.

"Hello, Dean," he smiles without looking back over his shoulder. "You kept me waiting."

Dean's legs finally wobble and give out and he comes down painfully on his hands and knees right beside his husband. "How long?" he demands, smiling fit to burst.

Castiel turns his crystal clear eyes to the love of his life. "I'm not sure, exactly. I was... dangling for a while here. Couldn't manifest. But then I did. I was so bored until I got here."

Dean chuckles. "You brought the lake. And the cabin."

"Will it be an imposition?" He legitimately sounds concerned.

"Nah," Dean says. "I love it. And it shows how powerful you are. How you were meant to be here with me. Forever."

"I held on," Castiel says. "I knew I could. What took you so long?"

"I don't know," Dean admits. "Time... it isn't the same here. Are you okay?"

Castiel fluidly gets to his feet looking none the worse for wear and brings Dean with him. "I am. Are you?"

"Yeah," Dean sighs, swaying closer. "You're okay staying here?"

Castiel nods towards the cabin. "Home is wherever you are, Dean Michael Winchester. Surely you know that."

Dean presses their foreheads together. "Yes, I do, Castiel James Novak. I do."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for everyone who stuck with this one! Your comments and support have been amazing!


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